


I Promise

by tectonictigress



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Drama, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tectonictigress/pseuds/tectonictigress
Summary: Hermione thought her life was perfect. Draco knew none of it was real.VoldemortWins!AU. Canon-compliant up to the Battle of the Hogwarts.





	1. The Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Heaps and heaps of beta love to lashestoashes91, chasingvellichor, and ravenclawsass.
> 
> Characters may seem a bit OOC in the beginning, but by the end of the first chapter you'll understand why. This fic is canon-compliant (at least Harry's POV book canon-compliant) up to the Battle of Hogwarts.  
> Warning, there are mentions of non-con/dub-con and suicide, but these are not things written in gratuitously; the rating is mainly for the adult themes.
> 
> Written for the Dramione Remix Fest, Round 9, much thanks to the mods for running it and their quick editing suggestions.  
> This is a remix of William/Dolores from Westworld.  
> Dolores is a rancher’s daughter who thinks her world is beautiful. William is a guest in her world and falls in love with her, refusing to recognize that her world isn't real.
> 
> There are a few similarities to Westworld with regards to the plot, but I really wanted to write a version of Westworld in the Wizarding World and this is what I came up with. If you've seen Westworld, you'll recognize some of the themes. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. Either way, just know that there are zero western-style elements in this fic.
> 
> Title is inspired by 'I Promise' from the Westworld season two soundtrack by Ramin Djawadi.

Hermione smiled as she walked through the door of Tomes and Scrolls, greeted the cheerful blonde woman behind the counter, and then turned left toward the New Releases shelf. She had been eagerly awaiting the newest book written by the renowned aviary expert Callum Vogel, hoping to learn more about the training capabilities of Golden Snidgets.

Her eyes trailed up and down the shelf several times, searching for the light blue cover of _Beyond the Pitch: Practical Purposes of Golden Snidgets_. Finding it, she grabbed the book and clutched it under her arm as she walked over to the Magical Creatures section of the small Hogsmeade bookstore. Having been here so many times, she knew exactly which row of books to look for.

She was currently working as a consultant for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures researching alternative birds to use for delivering post. Lately, it seemed, owls were disappearing and becoming less inclined to follow the directions of their owners, and so the Ministry had sought her out for her expertise in understanding how to control magical creatures. She had initially been tasked with designing new spells and charms to keep track of the owls, but this quickly led to frustration as they were rather combative and creature-specific spellwork was unpredictable.

Occasionally, she would consider it odd that the wizarding world was losing access to their one and only form of mail delivery that had been reliable for thousands of years, but then she would shrug and think nothing more of it.

She picked up a few extra books to take with her, including _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to give to a co-worker whose son’s birthday was coming up. She then headed back to the front of the store and set her books on the counter, talking idly with the store’s owner, Audrey, as she rang up her purchases.

Hermione gathered the books in her arms and left the bookshop, the bell above the door chiming her exit. She paused to bask in the feeling of the sun’s rays on her face when she walked out onto the high street. Hogsmeade was only a five-minute broom flight from the Muggle neighborhood her parents lived in several miles north of here, and so it had become her home away from home, her anchor to the wizarding world.

The heels of her Mary Janes plodded the cobblestones as she walked toward the broomstick shed at the other end of the street, pausing to smile at the familiar faces around town. The shopkeep at Dervish and Banges, Seamus, was outside sweeping under the awning when she walked by, and she held up her hand to give him a quick wave as she passed. Next door was the small quill shop, Scrivenshaft’s. It had been closed up for as long as she could remember, the boards covering the front windows starting to slip with age. She offered a quick glance toward the door of the tea shop as she saw an elderly witch flip the cardboard sign to ‘Closed,’ likely eager to get home for the evening to see her family.

Turning the corner into Hogsmeade Square in the center of town, she tried to suppress her grimace as she hurried past the twins standing outside the entrance to the Hog’s Head, their short, chiffon dresses revealing too much of the warm, brown skin of their legs for Hermione’s comfort. They were always wearing the same colored dresses, one pale blue, the other lilac, each matching the ribbons in their long, dark plaits. Hermione had never actually been inside the Hog’s Head, never having had the desire for those particular types of _encounters_. But she knew at least four women worked there, not that she’d ever bothered to learn their names.

Hermione was pondering why those women had never aspired for a ‘proper’ occupation when she collided with someone’s back and fell to the ground, dropping her books in the process.

“Watch where you’re going, Mudblood,” she heard a voice sneer from above her. Hermione’s eyes found the toe of a pair of pristine, black boots and moved upward, tracing the line of buttons on crisp, clean robes that were just as black as the boots, with the exception of the silver ‘PP’ sewn into the front pocket. The woman’s flat face glared down at Hermione, attempting to appear superior in her standing position, but her expression faltered at the sound of laughter coming from the direction of the Hog’s Head behind them.

Hermione’s gaze shifted to where the twins were standing under the small awning of the pub, the one dressed in pale blue clutching the arm of a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man as her laughs trailed off into soft giggles. The sound of a soft whimper echoed in the air, and Hermione turned her attention back to the woman in front of her, noting how her expression had now changed to one of melancholy. Composing herself, her dark eyes darted around the area as if checking that no one saw her brief lapse of emotion. The woman then turned and rushed away from the Hog’s Head, her straight brown hair twisting in the breeze of the wind.

Hermione frowned at the woman’s obvious rudeness, then pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her robes, looking at the ground for her books. Bending down to regather them, her ears pricked up at the sound of a high-pitched whistle. She glanced over to the Hogsmeade station across the square and saw the train that had just rolled in, realizing that the woman must be one of the new visitors in town.

It seemed like a coincidence that every time she came into Hogsmeade there were new visitors. She wasn’t entirely sure who they were or what their purposes here were. Her instinct to run from them was tampered down by the overwhelming feeling to be kind and welcoming. For some unknown reason to Hermione, these visitors tended to call her ‘Mudblood,’ the same word that was etched into her left forearm. She didn’t know what the word meant, nor where the scar on her arm had come from, the letters now white where the skin around them had attempted to mend something that could not be healed. Sometimes she felt a bit confused as to why these strangers called her that and why she would suddenly feel a rush of indignation when she heard the term. But then she would remember she needed to get home and thought nothing more of the visitors nor the word ‘Mudblood’.

Shrugging off the encounter, Hermione continued her trek toward the broom shed that was nestled into a corner next to the station. She momentarily slipped on the hem of her light brown robes as she neared the door, rebalancing herself as she pulled it open and selected a Comet Two-Sixty. A loud chime rang out five times, and she paused in her loading of the bag attached to the back of the broom to glance at the clock tower that stood opposite of the street she’d entered the square from. She admired the way the red brick tower stood above all of Hogsmeade, the light illuminating the face of the clock acting as a guardian watching over the small village, keeping them safe and staying lit so that wizards and witches could always find their way back home. Realizing it was now just after five p.m., she turned her attention back to the broomstick and sealed the bag with a flick of her wand to keep the books from falling out during her flight.

Hermione looked up at the sound of the door to the broomstick shed slamming and saw a redheaded woman in olive green robes emerging. The redhead appeared flustered as the freckles on her forehead wrinkled together, her left shoulder shoving Hermione as she stalked by.

“Excuse you?” Hermione snapped, annoyed that the woman hadn’t even bothered to apologize.

The woman was already several feet away when she turned around and glared at Hermione, her long red mane of hair twisting around with her. Rolling her dark brown eyes in obvious irritation, the woman turned back around to continue walking but paused as she caught sight of the clock tower. She sighed as she stared at it, her eyes then closing as she took in a deep breath as if to temper a raging storm in her mind. Shaking herself out of it, the woman then continued walking toward the Hog’s Head, the sound of her black heels clacking still able to be heard above the noise of the busy street.

Hermione pursed her lips as she took off into the air, feeling a light north wind push her hair out of her face. That previous feeling of annoyance she’d had was completely gone now. Up here in the air is where she truly felt comfortable. She’d always loved flying, it’s how she’d been able to observe the birds she studied in their natural state.

Hogsmeade became a small speck on the ground below as she rose higher, now flying over the dense forest that kept the little village hidden from the Muggles residing several miles to the north. If she looked out far enough around her, she could see water way off in the distance. She sometimes wondered what else was out there, beyond the edge of the world she knew. One day the curiosity had overwhelmed her, and so she’d flown out as far as she’d ever been. But as she’d neared the shoreline, her excitement and anticipation were quickly replaced by an unyielding urge to go back home, and she hadn’t felt the desire to explore since.

The tops of the houses of the Muggle neighborhood Stoneheart came into view, and she angled her broom downward to land in the forest behind her parent’s house. She set the broom against the back siding, then removing her books and walking in through the door as her parents greeted her.

“Hey, Hermione. Did you get everything you needed from Hogsmeade?” her father, Richard, asked, his hazel eyes peering over his glasses as he looked up from his reading of the _London Herald_ newspaper.

She smiled as she kissed him on the cheek before gesturing toward the books she was carrying in her hands. “Absolutely. I can’t wait to start on them; I need to present some sort of preliminary findings to the Ministry early next week,” she said excitedly.

“That’s our Hermione, always eager to read a book,” her mother, Helen, said as she walked through the door to the kitchen and hugged her.

Hermione smiled sheepishly as she watched her mother start pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. “Did you need any help with dinner, Mum?” she asked.

Helen waved her hand in dismissal as she glanced at Hermione over her left shoulder, her tawny curls twisting with the movement of her head. “No, no, I’ve got it. You go start your reading. I’ll call you in when it’s ready.”

Hermione nodded, turned around, and walked into the living room. She set her books down on the small cedar desk in the corner, then picked up the book on Golden Snidgets and curled up on the overstuffed violet chair that her parents had named her ‘Reading Chair.’ The silver lettering on the front of the book glimmered as she opened the cover to _Chapter One: Escaping the Bounds_.

Several minutes later, her reading was cut off by the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. She looked up and saw her mother standing at the stove mixing some pasta together. Her father was standing behind her with his arms around her, humming and swaying his hips in an attempt to get her to dance with him. A small smile spread across Hermione’s lips. Her life felt so perfect. She had a job she loved, working with her best friend Mary at the Ministry, and she got to spend time with her parents, still able to balance between the magical and Muggle parts of her life. The war had ended years ago, and she hadn’t really thought about it since. She just knew that the world was at peace now and that she had no reason to worry.

Helen turned to reach for the salt shaker and noticed Hermione watching them in the kitchen. The older woman’s coffee-colored eyes brightened as she returned a smile back to her daughter. She then handed the salt to Richard and headed into the living room, sitting down on the couch across from Hermione, an all-knowing grin spread across her face.

“So...how was work today?” Helen asked, lifting her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione tried to act like she didn’t know what her mother was referring to, but the sly smile that crept onto her face betrayed her feelings.

“Did you speak with a certain Mr. Wood?”

Hermione let herself smile fully now. She occasionally worked with Oliver Wood in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and had been attracted to him for quite some time. He was a bit taller than her and thin, but still muscular enough that she could picture herself wrapped in his arms.

She nodded. “He’s coming by tomorrow evening to pick me up for dinner.”

Helen’s eyes sparkled and she tried to suppress a squeal of delight. “You’ve been talking about him for ages. I’m so happy for you!” She reached across and tucked a handful of Hermione’s brown curls behind her left ear.   

Hermione’s expression turned to nervousness. “I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date. What in the world am I going to wear?” she asked frantically.

Her mother tutted. “Don’t you worry, I’ll help you get sorted out.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Richard shouted from the kitchen.

Helen gave her an excited grin, then stood and moved toward the dining table that sat in a small room offset from the living room.

Hearing her dad bring in the pasta from the kitchen, Hermione set her book down on the desk in the corner of the room and made her way toward the table, scooting her chair closer as she sat down. Her mother winked at her as her father asked how work was today, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all that she had to look forward to in the coming week.

* * *

 _Hermione sat hunched over her Ancient Runes essay, shifting her hips as she tried to get comfortable in the stiff chair the library provided. Wanting to get as much of her homework done as she could while it was quiet as everyone was still in the Great Hall for lunch, she ignored the tickling on her cheek when the feather of her quill brushed too close to her face. She paused as she looked over at the book to her right to check her translation, the pages of_ Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms _lit by the sun shining in from the nearby window. The nib of her quill scratched against the paper as she started writing again. She needed to get the essay done now so that she could use her time later that evening to review for the upcoming O.W.L.s._

_Her writing slowed as she felt a presence behind her. Shoulders tensed, she had a feeling she knew who it was, and chose to ignore them in hopes they would go away. Her optimism was pointless though as the person spoke up._

_“I need that book.”_

_The voice sounded muffled, and she turned around in her chair to look at the person, keeping her right hand splayed across the open pages of the book as if claiming it as hers. A boy was leaning against the wall behind her, his arms crossed as the sun from the window lit the blond strands of his hair. She tried to make out his face, but couldn’t, his features smeared together as if someone had tried to use a dried up eraser to remove him from the scene._

_“You can have it when I’m done with it,” she bristled at him, peeved that he had interrupted her just because he couldn’t wait his turn._

_The boy pushed off the wall and moved closer to her, scoffing as he peered down at her essay. The assignment had only called for 16 inches but she’d already written two feet, needing to make sure her explanation of the translation and its meaning was clear and concise._

_“Merlin, you’re such a know-it-all,” he said. His neck straightened as he stood back up to his full height, casually shrugging his shoulders. “But there’s no fun in teasing someone who doesn’t bother to fight back, so, I’ll make you a deal.”_

_Her chair scraped across the stone floor as she stood up, turning her back to the table and closing the book in question to cradle it in her arm. She actually didn’t need the book anymore. She had just finished up the main part of the translation and only needed to write the conclusion of her essay, but felt resolute in not giving this boy what he wanted. Curious to see where this was going, she waved her free hand, indicating for him to continue._

_“Give it to me, and I’ll lay off Saint Potter for one week.” Hermione wrinkled her forehead in disbelief. “Umbridge is using anything and everything to keep him in detention, and he’s so easy to rile.” Even though she still couldn’t clearly see his face, she could feel him gazing disdainfully at her. “However, if I’m going to keep surpassing you in class, I need that book to finish the translation.”_

_She scoffed, then narrowed her eyes at him._

_“Two weeks,” she offered._

_“Deal,” he immediately agreed, a slight lilt in his voice._

_She nodded, extending the book toward him. His long, pale fingers briefly brushed the back of her hand as they wrapped around the book’s thin spine, and she could faintly hear his breath catch. Heart thudding in her chest, she tensed, waiting for him to make a snide remark. But he didn’t. Well, at least not about touching her._

_“You should really learn the art of making deals.” She could practically hear him smirking. “You never made any stipulations about Weasley.”_

_Frustration coursing through her, Hermione reached out to take back the book from his hand, but he pulled his arm away, keeping it just out of her reach._

_“Relax. I’m a man of my word.”_

_She crossed her arms defensively, quirking a skeptic eyebrow at him._

_“I promise.”_

* * *

Hermione was awakened from her dream by an ear-piercing scream from downstairs. She leapt out of bed and down the stairs, her 10-inch laurel wand clutched tightly in her right hand. Her stomach clenched at the sight that greeted her. The front door had been blasted open and was lying in the middle of the room, bits of splinters and glass littering the entryway. Another scream from her parents pierced the air, and she swung around the banister at the bottom of the stairs, turning the corner to see two shadows near the entrance to their room.

She ran the length of the hallway and shouted “ _Expelliarmus,_ ” aiming for the figure nearest her, but it was blocked. She felt someone move behind her, and the next thing she knew an arm snaked around her, pinning her arms to her sides as her wand slipped out of her hand in surprise.

“Stop struggling or it’ll just be worse for them,” she heard a voice rasp, the feeling of warm breath across her left ear causing her to shudder in revulsion. She ceased her movement, fearing she recognized the man’s voice, but couldn’t turn around to see who it was.

Her eyes roved around the room as she took in the scene in front of her. Her mother was lying on the floor next to the bed, the pale green comforter splattered with drops of blood. Helen was screaming in agony as the man standing in front of her kept his wand pointed at her, laughing as if seeing her tears was the best part of his day. The man holding Hermione kept his free arm pointed at the wall on the opposite side of the bed, using his wand to keep her father pinned there, forcing him to watch his wife being tortured.

Hermione then noticed the sandy brown hair of the other man, the small mole at the base of his neck, and a small tear on the left shoulder of his tan robes. The tear had happened this morning when his robes had snagged on a splinter in the door frame of her office.

“Oliv-Oliver?” she squeaked out, unable to control her shaking voice.

Helen’s screams quieted as he lowered his wand and turned around, just now noticing that she had entered the room. He grinned. “Oh. Hello, Hermione.” He stepped closer to her, twirling his wand between his fingers like it was a baton. “I know it’s a bit early in our relationship, but I’m so glad I’ve had the opportunity to meet your parents.” Oliver’s eyes slid over Richard and Helen before he turned his attention back to Hermione. “They’re such lovely people.”

Hermione didn’t understand. This world was supposed to be safe after the war; she had no reason to fear anything. People were kind, honest, good. Especially Oliver. He’d been gentle and sweet with her, using every opportunity he could to compliment her.

She’d stopped struggling against the man holding her, frozen in shock. Her eyes wide, she asked, “Why?”

Both men laughed aloud at this as if she was asking why the sky was blue. “Because why not?” the voice behind her asked.

“Justin!?” she shrieked, now recognizing the person restraining her. She started struggling against him again, trying to raise her knee to stomp her foot on his. Justin dropped his wand arm to wrap it around her as well and contain her attempts to escape.

“Keep a hold on her now, Justin. She should watch and enjoy the show. It’ll keep her excited for her turn afterward," Oliver called over his shoulder, raising his wand again to aim at Helen.

Richard yelled as he jumped over the bed, released from his position on the wall when Justin had dropped his wand to constrain Hermione. Before he could reach his wife, Justin flicked his wand, and her father fell to the floor at the foot of the bed, clutching his hands to his chest where blood was seeping through his white nightshirt.

“Kill them already, will you?” Justin shouted. One of his hands lightly grazed the edge of her breast through her robes as it traveled slowly up Hermione’s side, stopping to wrap around her throat as he brought his lips to her neck. “I’m going to take this one to the living room.”

Hermione screamed again and started crying, desperately trying to get out of Justin’s grasp to help her parents. Oliver snapped his wrist over his shoulder and a white light flew from his wand, hitting its target as she folded over and clutched her side where a searing pain had started to spread. Justin dragged her out of the room, and they were halfway down the hall when she heard the two _Diffindo_ s. Her parents' yells of terror and suffering ended.

The silence was deafening. Hermione felt petrified, her body going limp as she stopped struggling, stopped trying to fight back.

After everything her parents had done for her, accepting the new world she was a part of, letting her move back in when she couldn’t find any friends to room with, she’d failed to protect them. They’d always encouraged her to read books and find something new to learn each day. But she’d never been brave, never been daring. She’d just studied her birds. And now she wished she could turn into one and fly out of there, escape to a different life where she didn’t have to remember how much of a failure she was.

Hermione gasped as Justin threw her on the floor of the living room, shards of glass digging into her left arm where she had landed on it. Justin stood at her feet, his eyes roaming over her as he slowly licked his lips like he was trying to choose a plate from a dessert tray. She didn’t even want to imagine what he was thinking about.

Oliver then entered from the hall and started running around the room, knocking books off of their shelves and pulling drawers out of her desk to upend them. Was he searching for something? Was this why they had attacked her and her parents?

She’d worked with them at the Ministry, been friends with them, _trusted_ them. And they’d betrayed her. And her parents were…

What was the point in even trying to survive this?

She let her head fall to the side away from Justin and noticed a large piece of glass underneath the overturned chair next to her. It was big enough for her to wrap her hand around and use as a weapon. The odds were against her, she knew there was no way she could overtake both Oliver and Justin. She could just as easily end her life and be free of this misery, go out in her own way.

She slowly inched her hand under the chair, twisting onto her side so that the movement of her arm was blocked from Justin’s view. Her hand wrapped around the glass, the sharp edges digging into her palm as she felt warm blood start to trickle down her wrist.

Oliver paused his searching of the room, stopping to stare at a picture frame from her desk. Justin looked over to where his companion stood, and Hermione used his momentary distraction to her advantage.

She brought the shard of glass to her throat and pressed down, dragging it across the thin skin of her neck to expose it to the world. She couldn’t see or feel any blood and wanted to scream from the pain, but couldn’t as she felt darkness take over.

Now, she could be at peace.

* * *

Several hours later, a sallow-skinned man in dark grey robes stalked through the open doorway of the house. His black Oxfords crunched the glass beneath his feet as he moved toward the brunette lying in the center of the living room. He stopped to push his black hair out of his line of sight and looked down at her.

Loosening the sleeve of his right arm, the hornbeam wand slid into his hand. He pointed it at the woman lying on the floor.

_“Rennervate.”_

Wide eyes shot open as she gasped, sitting up and moving her hand to her neck, searching for a cut or trace of blood where there was none.

Hermione looked around the room frantically, her panic and confusion increasing when she noticed the man standing in front of her. She tried to crab walk backward to get away from him but cried out when her lacerated hand landed on the edge of a splintered leg from the dining table.

Severus Snape knelt down in front of her, careful not to let his knees settle on any of the debris that littered the room. He locked his eyes with her own.

“Calm down,” he said.

She obeyed. Her breathing evened out as she sat upright, her hands coming together in front of her in her lap, perfectly still as if awaiting further instructions.

He cursed. It hadn’t worked.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, trying to control the snarl of frustration in his voice.

“No,” she answered, without hesitation.

Severus groaned, pushing himself to a standing position. With a flick of his wand, she fell back, eyes closed again. She looked peaceful, untroubled. Perhaps it would have been better if she just stayed that way, rather than being forced to live this loop over and over again.

Faint voices echoed in the silence of the night. The brats from Property Maintenance would be here soon to take her in and reset the _Obliviate_ and _Imperius_ on her and the Muggles.

He moved toward the kitchen and turned around, eyes darting across the room to make sure he’d left no trace of being there. Black eyes froze when they landed on the light blue cover of an upturned book, silver letters shimmering in the moonlight. His lip curled in an embittered sneer.

Violently spinning on his heel, Severus Disapparated, landing on the balcony at the top of the clock tower that overlooked Hogsmeade.

His hands wrapped around the steel railing, trying to stop himself from pacing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the feel of the cold wind biting at his face.

She’d failed.

Well, he’d failed.

Hell, at this point, the whole wizarding world had failed.  

Raucous laughter resounded from the only lit building in the square below. Three a.m. and the Hog’s Head was still open, a beacon of welcoming for the visitors that came here after departing the Hogwarts Express.

The train wasn’t really the Hogwarts Express, though. Neither was this town the real Hogsmeade. Both were now nothing but piles of ash.

The façade before him was the entry point for a ‘prison’ designed by Lucius Malfoy. In his desperate attempts to regain favor with the Death Eaters after being freed from Azkaban, he’d come up with the idea that those who rebelled against the Dark Lord could be repurposed for entertainment and monetary value rather than wasting away in cells.

The prisoners here underwent a sort of psychological torture, living some mundane life where they thought they were perfectly safe, unaware of what was really going on in the world. Some captives were assigned to actually turn dark against their friends, forced to attack people they had once allied with, such as those who had attacked Granger. Others just went about their day until visitors decided to hunt or ‘kill’ them, reveling in the game this ‘park’, as it was now called, provided them. One of the first things Severus had had to do was cast a protection spell over this place, lacing it with unicorn blood so that the prisoners could be severely injured but never actually die. ‘Can’t have our guests permanently damaging our property, now could we?’ Lucius had said to him.

His knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands around the railing. How had it come this far? He’d only meant to do as Dumbledore commanded and play his role as a loyal Death Eater, appearing useful at all times while still secretly working against the Dark Lord. He’d helped Potter escape Little Whinging and given him the Sword of Gryffindor. They’d had it planned out, believing they understood what the Dark Lord would do once he had his hands on The Chosen One.

However, both he and Dumbledore had been wrong. With this prison in mind, Voldemort chose to capture Potter instead of killing him, thinking Lucius might not be totally useless after all.

Four years. It had been four years since that day in the forest. Four years since the savior Harry Potter had been seen.

Four years of Severus failing to protect Lily’s son.

Although he wasn’t in the same situation as the rest of the prisoners, going directly to Potter wasn’t an option. Loathe he was to admit it, if anyone could understand how to break through these curses, rescue The Chosen One, and finish off the Dark Lord, it was Hermione Granger.

Close with Potter, aware of Dumbledore’s plan, and an annoying know-it-all he’d had to suffer with for six years, she was his last hope to fix the mess they were all in. He’d been leaving her clues, hiding them in plain sight within the confines of the loop she lived, hoping she would realize where she was and what was really happening around her.

He’d already tried stopping the _Obliviate_ a few times to get her to break the _Imperius_ on her own, but she’d just become hysterical before collapsing, her mind shutting down in its confusion of not knowing who or what she was. He’d also removed the _Imperius_ and tried talking to her directly, but the previous _Obliviate_ s had completely removed any trace of the real Hermione Granger; all that was left was a warm body with an empty mind.

He’d just have to leave more hints for her, put more people in her path that she once knew. _Obliviate_ and _Imperius_ were powerful enchantments, but it was possible to resist the _Imperius_ , there had to be a way to break through the memory charm.

He was jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of voices getting louder and the door to the Hog’s Head slamming open. The din softened as the door closed again, and in the faint light of the street lamps, Ginny Weasley emerged from the pub. She tilted her head back and looked up at the stars in the night sky above, her shoulders shaking.

A few minutes passed, and the shaking stopped. She brought her hands up and covered her face, using her fingers to swipe at the corners of her eyes.

Her gaze then shifted to the clocktower, the sight of it seeming to give her some sort of encouragement. Then composing herself, she turned around and went back inside the pub.

Muffled banging and shouting rang out from the face of the clock below the balcony Severus was standing on. With a flick of his wand, he silenced it, making a mental note to talk to the Head of Infrastructure about reinforcing the soundproofing of the room below.

Pale hands released their grip from the railing as he pushed back, standing at full attention at the thought he’d just had.

Lucius was responsible for the idea of this prison, and his dear son had done what he could to appease his father by serving as the Head of Infrastructure. If his train of thought was at all possibly headed in the right direction, he would need to start keeping a closer watch on what Draco was up to.

Even after his death, Albus Dumbledore was still inspiring him to explore the capability of the oldest and most powerful magic that existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter down  
> What do you think Snape is planning? :)


	2. The Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this fic, the island name and location are fictional.

Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and settled into the stiff seat of the Hogwarts Express, taking deep breaths and clearing his mind to prepare himself for this ‘vacation’ Theo Nott was dragging him on.

Over the last several years, Draco had been working as the Head of Infrastructure for the park Theo was taking him to (for it was much easier on Draco’s conscience to refer to it as a park rather than the prison that it actually was). His father had wanted to ensure complete isolation of the prison away from the mainland, and so Draco had overseen the construction of an expanded version of Malfoy Manor on a small island off the Scottish coast which served as the base of operations. There, visitors would board a replica of the Hogwarts Express that carried them to the larger sister island of Somerset where the park was built.

He normally would only come into the park to check on the progress of new areas that were under construction, areas that were completely devoid of any prisoners until their completion. For that, he was grateful.

Draco shuddered as he thought of the last time he was in an open area where prisoners were active. Two years ago, Granger had been captured during the rebels’ failed attempt to retrieve something from what remained of Hogwarts. Everyone had gathered in Somerset in the Hogsmeade Square to celebrate and vote on what sort of loop she would be forced to endure now that she was here.

One glance at where she’d stood on the raised platform, her chin held high and eyes afire, memories of a yearning for something he wasn’t worthy of having had come flooding back to him. He’d had meetings throughout sixth year with a girl he hadn’t even considered to be his friend, and yet somehow the brunette swot had affixed herself in his mind as the light at the end of a long, very dark tunnel. He had survived the previous year by forcing himself to forget about the warmth she’d once brought to his life, constructing a firm door inside the tunnel between his darkness and her light.

He hadn’t been ready to deal with the questions and remorse her presence had brought to him, and so he’d aimlessly wandered the back alleys of Hogsmeade, avoiding having to see how the Dark Lord had kept her awake and aware the entire time they were voting and discussing her fate. He’d returned to the square just in time to see Blaise Zabini snap a few pictures of her, the Death Eaters laughing as they decided hers was the perfect face to use for their new advertising campaign for the park.

Just as she had been led away back to the Manor to have the _Obliviate_ and _Imperius_ put on her, she’d locked eyes with him, still able to give him gooseflesh as he’d felt her piercing stare see right through him, the same look she’d given him throughout all of sixth year. To anyone else, her expression would have seemed almost passive, frozen in her attempts to remain brave and true. But he’d known her, known how to read her. Buried beneath her appearance of apathy, he could see a flicker of not fear nor despair, but only bitter disappointment.

It’s what he imagined his mother would think of the life he and his father lived now, but Narcissa Malfoy had disappeared in the chaos of the Battle of Hogwarts. He’d sworn to himself he would find her, spending what little free time he had during that first year after the Final Battle on missions as a pretext to search out rebels and ask them what they knew about her, who she had been with during the fighting, or if anyone had seen her since. But there was nothing to be found; no one on either side had heard anything about her. Eventually he’d stopped searching, his father and Severus demanding more and more of his time to work at the Manor.

The decision to give up still weighed heavily on him. That was two promises he’d broken, both of which he’d made to prove he could hold himself accountable, could be the person others believed him capable of becoming. At least he’d only made the promises to himself. Then he was the only one who knew of his failure.

Yes, what a disappointment indeed.

Draco was jolted back to the present as a tall blonde in tight-fitting emerald green robes and black heels leaned down in front of him and offered up a tray of glasses filled with firewhiskey. He sensed he probably once knew her and quickly grabbed a glass, hoping she would go away before he remembered who she was. Pretty much everyone he’d known at Hogwarts was either in the park, working for the Dark Lord, or dead.

“Recognize her, huh?” Theo said as he sat down across from Draco. “It’s that bitchy Ravenclaw that was always hanging around one of the Weasleys. Clearwater, I think.” He stared after her as she walked away, not even hiding that his eyes were firmly glued to her arse.

Draco offered a sneer in response and chugged the glass of firewhiskey. Only five minutes into this trip and he was ready to leave, especially with Theo as his company. Theo had worked his way up through the Death Eater’s ranks before the end of the war and had somehow managed to earn the Dark Lord’s trust, likely with Nott Sr’s help. When Lucius had first proposed the park, Voldemort had insisted Theo assist him and monitor the progress and potential of the prison. Lucius knew it was really a way for the Dark Lord to keep closer tabs on him as the Malfoy patriarch still hadn’t fully been trusted and Snape had been serving as the Hogwarts Headmaster.

Lucius had instilled in his son a desperate need for survival, no matter what else was happening. Thus, Draco usually kept himself busy in his office, shut away to work on his designs while fervently ignoring what was going on in the world. He knew Theo was a frequent visitor, having seen him several times at the Manor near the departure point for the train. Sure, they’d been what could be considered as friendly, having been close when they were still at Hogwarts with both of their fathers serving as high-ranking Death Eaters. But now, Draco had no idea what had possessed the brown-haired man to drag him on a trip into Somerset.

“Loosen up a bit, we’re here to have fun,” Theo said, nudging Draco’s knee as the train rattled along the tracks. “When was the last time you were even in the park? I’ve never seen you around Hogsmeade nor at the annual reenactments.”

“I’ve been busy keeping this place running and making sure you idiots enjoy yourselves,” Draco offered in response. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a drunk Mundungus Fletcher toward the back of the car, who started getting handsy with Clearwater. Draco forcibly averted his gaze away as she smiled receptively in response to his come-ons. This is why he hated this place: no one was who they really were, not even the guests.

As the train arrived at the station in Hogsmeade, Theo clapped his hands and eagerly rubbed them together, seemingly unable to suppress his excitement. Draco sighed as he stood up and followed him off the train, the sunlight momentarily blinding him before he took in his surroundings. He knew every inch of this place; he’d overseen its construction, building by building.

By the time he’d gone to the real Hogsmeade to review some of his initial designs, the Hog’s Head had been the only building still standing, the rest burnt to piles of black ash. A light tingle shot up the back of his neck, and he reached around to scratch at it, trying to not think about that particular trip. A soft hand caressing his neck, nails digging into his shoulder blades, images of _her_ flew through his mind.

He had one goal this whole trip: don’t see Granger, whether accidentally or on purpose.

Draco followed Theo toward the Hog’s Head, the pub where guests could book rooms to stay in. “So, I figured we’d start here, grab some dinner, maybe find us a nice round of _adventure_ while we’re inside.” Theo had turned around and started walking backward as he spoke.

Next thing he knew, Theo had ran into someone, a head of brown curls flying in front of the woman’s face before she fell to the ground, dropping the books she’d been carrying.

Draco stopped moving, his shoulders tense, quickly realizing he had yet another failure to add his already long list.

“Watch where you’re going, Mudblood!” Theo sneered at her.

Hermione Granger looked up and frowned as she pushed herself off the ground and dusted off her robes. She then bent down to pick up her books, but acting on instinct, Draco had already retrieved them for her.

Their hands brushed as he handed her her books, and he had to ignore the once-familiar skip of the beating in his chest and focus on his feeble attempts to keep that door in his mind sealed. Her brown eyes locked with his grey, and he searched for those fiery, honey-colored specks he’d seen so many times before. But all he could see were faded beige spots, the fire that once sparked her eyes now diminished by the falsity that was her life, the dullness of it equal to that of the light peeking through the window that had suddenly appeared at the top of the tunnel door.

He jumped back and sneered at her, needing to get as far away from her as he could. He turned around and followed Theo into the Hog’s Head, ignoring his comments about being too nice to the prisoners while trying to forget the brief glimpse of confusion that had crossed her face as if she were trying to remember something she’d forgotten.

If only she knew.

After they’d selected their rooms and been given the spiel about how to use  _Ducent Carta_ to access the park map from an overly chipper Susan Bones, they sat down to dinner. Draco didn’t speak much as Theo carried the conversation all on his own, never shutting up about all of his past trips here, his favorites being when he’d had the chance to hunt down prisoners who they used to harass at Hogwarts.

Just as they finished up dinner, the Patil twins sauntered over from where they had been chatting with the she-Weasley at the bar and stopped to stand side by side next to their table. Theo grinned as he eyed them up and down lavisciously. “Ladies, care to join me upstairs?”

They giggled in response and nodded, the thin material of their short dresses shifting to reveal a bit more of their thighs. “What about your dear friend here?” the one clad in lilac said as she ran her hand seductively over Draco’s shoulder, the soft tinkling of the gold bracelets around her wrist ringing in his ear. “Will he be joining us? If not, I know Katie would love a go at him.”

Draco started to protest, but Theo cut him off. “I prefer not to have to share my women,” he said as he teasingly ran his hand up and down one of the twins’ arms before continuing. “As far as I know, Draco here hasn’t _enjoyed_ the perks of his position in quite some time.” The suspicious look on Theo’s face made Draco think that he was talking about more than just physical enjoyment.

“Tell me, Katie,” he continued as the woman in question approached the table from behind Draco, her long, blood-red robes floating gracefully behind her, “can you help him see how he’s been missing out on the nighttime _delights_?”

Katie leaned down behind Draco and whispered in his ear, the dark ends of her hair brushing against his neck and cheek. “Trust your friend. I’m quite excellent at being _delightful_.” She nibbled at his ear, and Draco had to force himself not to shove her away.

“Grab yourself a drink, she’ll be waiting in your room. Don’t disturb me, I’ll be a bit…busy,” Theo called out as he led the twins up the stairs, Katie winking back at him as she followed them up.

Draco groaned and put his head down, wrapping his hands in his hair and pulling, needing to feel anything besides the frustration with his current situation. It seemed like Theo was taking control and not even giving Draco a chance to have an opinion. Did it have something to do with the way he seemed suspicious of him?

It was true Draco never came into the park as a visitor. He had a general idea of how the park was operated, but he didn’t know the exact ins and outs of what guests did when they visited. Were people starting to talk, to question his loyalty and motives? He’d just been trying to do his job and blend in; standing out could draw in scrutiny and he certainly didn’t want to be handed another ‘special task’ from the Dark Lord. Perhaps trying not to be noticeable _was_ calling too much attention to himself.

He stood up and braced his arms against the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. Looking around the dining area, he recognized a few of the other visitors, some from working at the Manor, others possibly as students he’d known at Hogwarts who now supported the Dark Lord. He spotted Fletcher again who had apparently seduced Clearwater off the train as she was currently sitting in his lap, licking her lips slowly as she ate the grapes he was hand-feeding her.

Draco roughly pushed off the chair in disgust and turned to leave, but stopped when he locked eyes with Ginny Weasley where she stood a few feet in front of him with a tumbler of firewhiskey ready in her small hand. She pushed her arm out to him, and he slowly reached out to take the glass from her, slightly bewildered at the way she studied him like he was creature she’d never seen before.

He muttered a thanks, and her gaze broke. With a slight shrug of her shoulders and a soft hum, she returned to her place behind the counter and started wiping down glasses. He took his cue to leave when Terence Higgs took a seat at the bar and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, a feeling of repugnance flooding through him as she smiled back receptively. Draco’s boots pounded the stairs as he ran up to his room, desperately hoping that Granger wasn’t in a place like this.

* * *

Hermione pulled back the covers of her bed and climbed in, needing to get some rest after the exhausting and confusing day she’d had. She’d gone into Hogsmeade to get the new book about Golden Snidgets and ran into, literally, a visitor who had called her Mudblood and pushed her to the ground.

It wasn’t the man that had ran into her that was plaguing her mind, though, but the blond that he’d been with. She still didn’t understand why he would cause such a disturbance in her mind. She’d always felt so calm and peaceful. But this time, this person, incited a disruption in her normal thinking, like her train of thought had suddenly decided to leap off the tracks and start soaring in three different directions all at the same time.

The interaction had thrown her whole day off balance. She considered herself to be an excellent flier and yet had had trouble managing the broom she’d pulled out of the shed. This then had led to that redhead helping her find a better broom and making sure she’d taken off okay. Once she’d made it into the air, Hermione had felt a bit sad for the woman. She didn’t understand why, though. She’d never cared about _those_ women who worked in the pub, never even bothered to learn their names.

She’d been unable to concentrate on her reading about Golden Snidgets that evening, distracted by the sound of her parents laughter in the kitchen and throughout dinner, and was now stressing about how much she had to catch up on tomorrow. There was so much work she needed to get done and that was before she had her first date with Oliver the following night.

Hermione snuggled deeper under the covers now, her mind relaxing a bit as she thought of Oliver and how excited she was for tomorrow. He was very kind and sweet to her at work, she couldn’t imagine how much of a gentleman he’d be when he came by tomorrow and what her parents might think of him.

* * *

_Hermione pushed opened the door to the girl’s lavatory and let it slam shut behind her in an attempt to release some of her pent-up frustration. She’d been walking with Harry down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Ravenclaw vs Slytherin match when Lavender had appeared with her dear ‘Won-Won.’ Hermione didn’t even like the sport but she’d been excited for the opportunity to spend time with Harry, particularly because going to Quidditch matches was something he usually reserved for his friendship with Ron._

_Surprising them both, however, Ron had managed to disentangle himself from Lavender just enough so that he thought they could all sit together in the stands. At the sharp glance from Harry, his eyes pleading for his two best friends to just get along again, she’d pondered swallowing her pride and attempting to make nice with the couple. But then as they’d stepped outside into the icy February air, Lavender had thrown herself around Ron, making comments about how they could keep each other warm throughout the match. She’d quickly made an excuse about needing to study Arithmancy and bolted back up the stairs and through the large oaken doors._

_She really did have Arithmancy homework she needed to start on. But if she was going to make any headway on it, she would need a moment to purge the annoyed and angry thoughts of Ron and Lavender from her mind._

_Thinking she could splash some cool water on her face, she turned the corner of the entrance to the bathroom and stopped when she heard a soft gasp._

_Draco Malfoy was standing at one of the sinks, shoulders hunched over and pale hands wrapped around the edges of the basin. Even through the tarnished surface of the mirror before him, she could clearly see the tension etched into his face, the reflection of his grey eyes locking with her own._

_“You’re not down at the match,” she said, her unsurprised tone suggesting it was more of a statement rather than a question._

_The blond pushed off the sink and turned around to face her, arms crossed over his chest defensively. He appeared flustered with his hair disheveled, his untucked shirt and loosened tie completing the ensemble. “Neither are you. Saw you headed down with Potter earlier, thought I’d finally be able to get some peace and quiet around here.”_

_Her eyes wandered around the bathroom. She hadn’t even realized she’d been on the second floor when she’d darted into the nearest lavatory._

_“Here?” she asked, trying to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape._

_He scoffed and spun back around, his gaze now focused on the sink in front of him._

_Hermione sighed as she walked toward the sink to his right and ran water from the tap, using her hands to dab it across her cheeks._

_Malfoy had eased off his bullying of her over the last year. She was smart enough not to react to his taunts which he found was not worth his time and effort. They’d formed an uneasy truce, not exactly friends yet not enemies either. He was in the classes she didn’t have with Harry and Ron, and so they would occasionally work together on their assignments while sitting at the same table in the library, though at opposite ends, of course. She usually hated having other people around when she wanted to get work done; Harry and Ron always interrupted her to ask her about something in her notes from class. Malfoy, on the other hand, remained silent when they sat together sharing a book, only speaking to ask questions that made her pause and think critically._

_Eyes drifting to her left, Hermione saw his knuckles whitening as his thin fingers tightened their grip on the edge of the sink. She’d noticed his change in demeanor over the past few months; his appearances in the Great Hall during meal times had become less frequent and the pallidness of his face was now almost as grey as his eyes._

_He’d looked even worse when they had returned from the Christmas holidays, and their first week back was when she’d first caught him hiding out in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom._

_A part of her felt like she was hiding something from Harry and Ron by not telling them about their encounters, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to believe regarding Harry’s theory of Malfoy being a Death Eater. She just knew the Slytherin could use some help, and unable to suppress her compassionate instincts, she’d tried to reach out to him, at least get him to eat something. The first few times he’d either ignored her or called her Mudblood and stormed away. Eventually, though, he’d warmed up to her attempts, and so she’d started leaving offerings of extra food she’d taken from meals in a corner of the bathroom that he could get to on his own schedule._

_Hermione saw a flicker of light out of the corner of her eye, the large ring Malfoy wore on his right index finger reflecting the light in the room as he moved it to lightly caress the snake engraved on the tap of the sink. Using her wand to quick-dry her hands, she turned and faced toward him, resting her hip on the edge of the marble._

_She’d heard from Harry that Malfoy had some supposed mission to complete while he was still in school. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t sitting well with him, and he seemed to have found solace not in his conversations with Moaning Myrtle but with the unique connection to Salazar Slytherin this bathroom offered. It was the entrance to the founder’s sanctuary, a place where Slytherin could escape the world around him and plan out his dreams and ambitions for the future of his life and the school._

_Perhaps Malfoy was trying to do the same._

_“Did you know out of the three other Hogwarts’ founders, Slytherin was closest friends with Gryffindor?” she said, hoping to get his attention. He turned his face to look at her, lifting a pale brow in confusion at her seemingly random statement. “The Sorting Hat originally belonged to Gryffindor before Slytherin helped him charm it to sort students into their houses.”_

_Malfoy pushed off the sink and stood upright, his eyes fixed on the emerald-eyed snake on the tap as if he could somehow absorb Slytherin’s own cunning and determination from it. “That sodding old hat was Gryffindor’s? No wonder it’s so ratty and worn-looking.” Hermione started to protest but stopped when he continued speaking. “Gryffindor left behind a frayed and patched hat while Slytherin had built an entire hidden chamber housing a basilisk.” His gaze shifted toward Hermione, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide his broad smirk._

_“A basilisk whose sole purpose was to kill Muggle-borns.” She stepped closer to him, fierce determination shining in her eyes. “Slytherin may have bequeathed his grand sanctuary to the future students of his house, but his legacy is tainted with the arrogance of pureblood superiority.”_

_He looked mildly uncomfortable now, his eyes darting away from her face. In her brief pause, she chose to ignore how close they were standing to each other, the warmth radiating off of him seeping into the cold that still surrounded her._

_“Gryffindor made the Sorting Hat so that students had a way to be sorted into their houses after the founders died. Even Slytherin recognized that one day, he too would leave this world and move on.”_

_Malfoy’s forehead wrinkled in exasperation. “And what exactly is your point with this unrequested history lesson?” he asked her._

_“That history has proven it’s possible for a Gryffindor and Slytherin to work together to reach a common goal,” she replied, her tone softer now. “And that all beings will die, Muggles and wizards alike. Including Voldemort.”_

_He quickly stepped back from her, the edge of his left eye twitching as he flinched at the use of the Dark Lord’s name. He started to walk toward the exit._

_Before she could think, her hand shot out to wrap around his right wrist, stopping him from leaving. He glanced down at where her hand was, deciding not to comment on how she’d subconsciously started rubbing the palm of his hand with her thumb._

_“Malfoy…” His gaze shifted to look at her directly. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I’ve offered my help as much as I can and not asked too many prying questions, but whatever happens next has to come from you.”_

_Hermione hoped he might just reach out and take the olive branch she was offering him as he waited a few moments before speaking. “If I ever decide to spill any secrets you think I supposedly have, you’ll be the first to know.” His eyes glinting, the edges of his lips curled into a faint smirk as he added, “I promise.”_

* * *

Hermione was yanked from her dream at the sound of her parents screaming. She grabbed her wand and flew down the stairs, hearing glass crunching beneath her feet as she ran straight to her parents' bedroom. Someone grabbed her as she entered, pinning her arms to her side with his own wrapped around her, her wand slipping from her hand in the tussle.

“Stop struggling or it’ll just be worse for them!” a man said into her ear, his warm cheek resting against her own.

Hermione stopped moving when she saw her mother lying on the floor next to the bed, screaming in pain as the man standing in front of her kept his wand aimed at her, laughing.

She then realized she recognized that laugh and looked over at the man torturing her mother.

“Oliv-Oliver?”

Helen’s screams quieted as Oliver stopped and turned around, noticing for the first time that she had entered the room. “Oh. Hello, Hermione.” He stepped closer to her, grinning and twirling his wand between his fingers. “I know it’s a bit early in our relationship, but I’m so glad I’ve had the opportunity to meet your parents. They’re such lovely people.”

She stopped struggling against the man holding her. Her eyes wide, she gasped, “Why?”

Both men laughed aloud at this. “Because why not?” the voice behind her asked.

“Justin!?” she shrieked, now recognizing him as Oliver’s friend from the Ministry. Justin dropped his wand arm to wrap it around Hermione as she started struggling again.

“Keep a hold on her now, Justin. She should watch and enjoy the show. It’ll keep her excited for her turn afterward,” Oliver called over his shoulder before turning his wand back on Helen.

Neither Justin nor Oliver had noticed that Richard was free from where he’d been held against the wall until they heard him yell as he started to run to his wife, desperate to protect her. He was stopped by a third man entering the room who lazily flicked his wand, causing Richard to be thrown down to the floor, the sound of gurgling erupting from him as blood started to ooze from his mouth.

“Graham, hurry up!” a feminine voice called from down the hall. The man who had just entered rolled his eyes and raised his left hand to lean against the door frame, the sleeve of his robes inching up to reveal the edges of a black tattoo depicting a snake on his forearm.

“You, kill them already,” he said, beckoning toward Oliver. He then turned toward Justin and eyed Hermione slowly as if his appraising her worth. “Bring her in the other room.” He then turned to head out the door.

Hermione screamed and started crying, and Graham paused in his leaving to look at her again, then twisted his wand and cast a hex that caused her to fold over and clutch her side where a white-hot pain had started to spread. Justin dragged her out of the room, and they were halfway down the hall when she heard her parents' screaming end.

Reaching the living room, Justin threw her on the floor, shards of glass piercing her left arm. Anger coursed through her when Oliver came into the room, and she wanted to attack him, but the pain in her side was keeping her subdued.

“There. Happy, Millie?” Graham said as he returned from the bedroom, completely ignoring Hermione as he strode toward the open space where the front door used to be.

From her position on the floor, Hermione saw him address a tall, broad-shouldered woman with straight black hair leaning against the door frame. She acted like being here to witness Hermione’s anguish and terror meant absolutely nothing, her arms folded across her chest and her jaw gnashing as she smacked the gum she was chewing. Hermione noticed they were both wearing sharp, black robes perfectly tailored for them. These contrasted the slightly tattered light brown robes Oliver and Justin wore. _Visitors?_ she thought.

Millie rolled her eyes and sighed. “We’ve done this a thousand times. Kill the parents, one of the idiots tries to screw the Mudblood, she then gets all sad and pathetic and kills herself. Boring and predictable.”

Hermione wanted to think this was an odd comment to make, but after looking at Justin and Oliver and not seeing them have any reaction, she thought nothing more of it and focused on the pain in her side that was starting to lessen, slowly being replaced by grief for her parents and betrayal for what Oliver and Justin were doing.

“You’re supposed to tell us where we can find Longbottom,” Millie said, turning to face Oliver, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

Hermione tuned the voices out as Oliver focused on talking to the two visitors, catching the short, quick twitches of his left hand out of the corner of her eye. Justin was still standing near her, his eyes roving over her crumpled figure.

She turned her head to the left and saw the glint of a rather large piece of glass, big enough for her to wrap her hand around and use as a weapon. She knew there was no way out for her. Four against one was hopeless from the start, and who knows what they would do to her before they would just let it end. But she could easily use the glass on herself, end the pain and guilt coursing through her and go out on her own terms.

She inched her hand under the chair, twisting onto her side so that the movement of her arm was blocked from Justin’s view. Just as her hand wrapped around the glass, the sharp edges digging into her palm, she heard a voice.

_Run._

Hermione gasped and looked around for the source of the voice. It belonged to a man, deep, slightly nasal, his tone sounding like he’d almost growled instead of spoken a word. But Oliver was still arguing with the visitors in the other corner of the room, now joined by Justin. None of them acted like anyone else was there. They weren’t paying any attention to her; even they knew she was no threat to them.

Blood was dripping down her arm now. She hadn’t noticed how tightly she was clenching the glass in her hand. Turning her head back down to look at it, she thought of how much she wanted to let it all go right then. All she had to do was bring the shard to her neck...

_Get up and run, now! While they’re distracted!_

Hermione looked to the group in the corner, still arguing about someone named Longbottom and his hat. Her eyes then moved around the room, taking in how each piece of her life had been destroyed. The violet chair lying on its side next to her, stuffing now pouring out of a hole in the back; photo frames shattered into fragments that littered the floor; the books she’d bought earlier that day lay open and upside down near her desk, the pages and bindings now creased. The silver lettering on the front of Vogel’s book glittered in the moonlight pouring in, the words _Golden Snidget_ were all that she could make out.

Even if her parents were gone and Oliver had betrayed her, she still had her career she could look forward to. The thought of the birds and the freedom they had to fly wherever they wanted gave her a thread of hope to grab on to. She supposed that might be enough of a reason to at least try to run and save herself. Her parents had always encouraged her to read, to learn all that she could. They wouldn’t want her to give up so easily.

 _Ah, books and cleverness. Is that all you are?_ the voice spoke again. _Are there not more important things? Things like friendship and..._

“Bravery.” The word escaped her mouth before she had even thought it.

Her stomach clenched as she once again felt desperation spread through her, but this time instead of being drowned in despair, she felt driven by hope and memory and a desire to live. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of the word friendship, but instead of Audrey from the bookshop or Mary from work, she saw a boy with bright red hair that contrasted terribly with an overstuffed red couch he was sitting on. His cheeks pinched with dimples as he laughed along with the boy sitting next to him whose green eyes and round glasses reflected the small, freckled girl seated across from them, her long, red hair swaying as she reached for a pillow behind her to launch at the two boys.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and a single tear leaked out as she opened her eyes. She couldn’t remember who the boys in her vision were, but they were her friends, her _real_ friends. People she loved, people who missed her, who needed her to _survive_.

Courage surged through her as she released the shard of glass she’d been holding onto and instead used one hand to push herself up, the other shoving the overturned chair toward the group in the corner, blocking them from pursuing her as she ran out the back door and into the cold night air. She could hear yelling and saw a streak of orange light soar past her right shoulder, but she didn’t dare turn back. She grabbed the Cleansweep she had left sitting by the back fence and took off into the air.

Not knowing where she was going or what she was going to do, Hermione knew she just needed to get away, get somewhere where she could think. The world below grew smaller as she soared higher into the air, and the longer she flew, the more the adrenaline from her escape was replaced by sorrow.

Her parents were gone. Oliver and Justin, people she thought were her friends, or even perhaps had the chance to be more, had attacked her family. She couldn’t understand why any of it had happened.

But then she thought of the two boys from her vision. She didn’t know who they were, but they felt important, like they were people who cared for her. Where were they now? Could they help her understand how her life had been upended so suddenly?

Her mind drifted to a different redhead, the woman who had helped her with her broom earlier that day and then stopped to stare at the Hogsmeade clock tower, her face betraying the anguish she felt at having to return to the Hog’s Head for another night shift. Did she know the boys in her vision? How had she gone from being that fiery little girl to working nights as a barmaid?

She then remembered how all of this had started. The whole day had felt wrong since she’d met that towheaded man outside the Hogsmeade station. A different sort of feeling flooded her at the thought of him, not one of friendship or family, but of the loss of something she desperately needed to find again. Prickles of fear crept over her, whether of him or for him, she wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew was that, more than anything, the image of grey eyes and blond hair made her ache with regret.

Hermione shook her head to snap herself out of her train of thought and swallowed down the emotions flooding through her. She couldn’t focus on the unknowns and what-ifs. The fact was that she needed to find somewhere to settle for the night to recuperate and think about what her next steps would be, the first being to find a new wand.

She realized she had been flying south for several minutes. Her best bet was to head toward Hogsmeade, toward the safety and comfort she felt at the sight of the clock tower. There were several townhouses on the western edge of the village that were currently for sale. Perhaps she could take shelter in one of them for the night and rest for a few hours.

A faint chirping noise from behind her grew steadily louder. Hermione whipped her head around and saw a Golden Snidget furiously flapping its wings to speed up then slowing as it reached her. She smiled, comforted by the fact that she wasn’t alone up here in the sky.

The little bird stopped chirping as it flew in front of her, keeping pace with her flying. She was slightly mesmerized by it weaving back and forth in an ‘S’ pattern. They flew together like this for a few minutes more, and Hermione wondered why the bird was flying alone. Golden Snidgets rarely traveled solo, if ever, always relishing in the safety and comfort of their family. That had been one of the cruelest parts of their use on the Quidditch pitch; they’d been forced to be alone, flying continuously in their loops of the pitch, seeking the family they’d lost.

The Snidget chirped again, briefly turning its head around to look at her as if making sure she was paying attention to it before diving down toward the forest.

Hermione wasn’t sure what motivated her, but she felt the sudden desire to follow the bird. It had been a comfort to her and she didn’t want to let it go just yet. She angled her broom downward and pursued the bright yellow bird as it kept flying toward the trees. All she could see below was the darkness of the branches and leaves from the pines and oaks, but the Snidget flew straight, steadfast in its flight at the thought of returning to its home.

Then, just as she started to look for an opening to fly through without scratching herself on the branches, she saw a soft yellow light through the trees below. She froze.

She’d never heard of anyone living way out here, deep in the Forbidden Forest. What if it was some old hermit who hadn’t seen another living soul in years and would attack her the second they saw her? Or what if the person was away and came back to find a bloodied stranger sitting outside their home? They’d probably be freaked out and try to call the authorities. She wasn’t ready to face the Ministry, just the thought of it brought back bitter reminders to how she’d trusted Oliver and Justin and they’d destroyed everything she had. Besides, involving the Ministry wouldn’t solve anything for her. Her parents were gone. Not even magic could bring them back.

Focusing back on the light below, she flew closer, stopping to hover just below the topmost layer of thick branches so that she could see what was below more clearly. A small cottage came into view, the source of light emitting from a small lantern hung just outside the front door.

The Golden Snidget she’d followed tweeted once more as it flew toward the cottage, but stopped several feet below her and settled into a large birdhouse sitting atop a silver pole that must have been at least twelve feet tall. Hermione looked around, now noticing there were several more birdhouses arranged in an arc in front of the cottage, all of varying heights and designs.

She felt drawn in, curious to know who could possibly live here. Clearly, it was someone who admired birds. Perhaps Hermione actually knew the person inside or had at least heard of them from her reading of texts written by avian experts in the wizarding community.

Hermione flew down and dismounted her broom, leaning it against the pole of the birdhouse nearest her as she stopped to study the cottage. Built with grey stones stacked haphazardly, the wooden roof of the cottage sagged at the edges as if tired of holding up its own weight. Paned windows sat on each side of the front door, slick with grime from not having been cleaned in several years, but through which she could see a faint orange glow coming from inside. As she neared the large oaken door, she noticed a small peephole, below which hung a gold plaque that couldn’t really be considered gold anymore, the metal now tarnished green with age.

She lifted her hand and used her sleeve to start wiping away some of the dirt that had settled on the plaque. She’d just barely managed to make out the word ‘Elfrida’ when the front door suddenly opened.

Hermione gasped and stepped back, shocked by the movement and at being caught unaware. Standing in front of her was a tall, black-haired man with pale skin and a large, hooked nose. His hand clutched the edge of the door as he held it open, the white cuffs at his wrists tucked into the sleeves of black robes on which a silver ‘SS’ was embroidered onto the front pocket. A quick glance behind him and she thought she could see a middle-aged blonde woman inside, her hands clasped in front of her as she sat perfectly still in front of the fireplace, not at all curious to turn around and see who was at the door.

Hermione turned her attention back to the man before her as he released a deep sigh, sounding relieved as if he’d been holding it in for an eternity and could finally breathe again. When he spoke, Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. That voice. It was the one that had rang in her head as she lay on the floor of the living room contemplating her suicide. This was the man that had encouraged her to run, to save herself. She felt like she knew him but wasn’t sure where from.

“Miss Granger, I’ve been waiting for you.”

* * *

Severus Snape’s black eyes glittered in the light from the lantern, and he appeared to be smiling or at least attempting to. The way she looked at him, she still didn’t recognize him, didn’t suddenly have all of her memories. But pieces of the real Hermione Granger were still inside her, pieces that included the woman standing before him who had resisted the _Imperius_ and fought to survive.

He’d have to let her go back to her loop; someone would notice if she suddenly went missing. Three weeks ago, he’d had no idea how to help her. But now, he knew what he needed to do. The pieces of his plan would have to include more than just her.

Albus Dumbledore, wise as he was, always speaking in riddles, was absolutely right. Lily’s sacrifice for her son was the reason he had lived, proving love was the most powerful magic in existence, able to break through the strongest of enchantments.

Severus’ love for Lily is why he’d fought so desperately to keep her son safe and why he continued to do so now. Once again, this dangerous yet remarkable emotion, one that Voldemort had never understood and time and again underestimated, would be his downfall. The plan was already forming in his mind.

Finally, he could fulfill the promises he’d made and save Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got to see how some of the visitors interact with the prisoners in this chapter  
> What did you think of the effect Draco had on Hermione?  
> I'd appreciate your thoughts :)


	3. The Hunt

The following morning, Draco met Theo down in the pub for breakfast, grunting a thanks when Bones dropped their plates on the table in front of them. The light scraping of his fork against the plate on which his breakfast of eggs and toast lay was the only sound he could focus on to tune out Theo’s rather _detailed_ description of his night with the Patil twins.

He himself had survived his night with Katie. Through the thin walls of the Hog’s Head he had heard the moans of Theo and the twins, and Katie had tried to convince him to have as much fun with her as the others were having with each other. He’d tried just talking to her, telling her he didn’t want that from her and had asked her what she would want to do instead, but then he had had to stun her as she’d started to unbutton his robes. Unable to stand being in the same room with her, even if she was unconscious, he’d spent most of the night out on the balcony.

He had had a clear view of that wretched clocktower from his perch. His father had requested a location in the village from which everyone who came and went could be seen. Lucius viewed the tower as a way to emphasize the power and control he held, even if it was just on this little island and not at the Ministry of Magic in London or all across Britain.

Draco, on the other hand, loathed it. Standing eighty feet tall with a thirty-foot square base, the red bricks and stone foundations of the tower were the first pieces of the park he’d constructed. To him, it was the start of his spiral into ignorance and apathy; the laying of that first brick made all the ones to follow it that much easier.

“Ready to pick an Undesirable?” Theo asked excitedly before stuffing another forkful of sausage in his mouth.

Draco grimaced. “Remind me again who came up with that terrible name?” he asked.

“That would be me,” Blaise Zabini said as he pulled out the chair to Draco’s left, turning it around to sit on it backwards. Clad in the same black robes all Manor employees wore, his knees bent outward to accommodate his six-foot frame. In his thin-fingered hands he held several sheets of parchment that looked like newspaper clippings from _The Daily Prophet_ , each one with a moving photo of a prisoner that could be hunted in the park. Blaise thought of himself as clever when he’d implemented that ‘game’ early on in the park’s history.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, surprised to see Blaise here at conveniently the exact same time he’d decided, or rather was forced, to visit.

“Theo here keeps bugging me about wanting to hunt down Longbottom,” Blaise said, gesturing toward Theo with a tilt of his head. “Only the really smart ones know how to find him th- Watch it!” he was cut off with a smack to his shoulder from Theo. Blaise glared at him. “Be nice or I won’t help you.”

“I wouldn’t need your help if you didn’t make it so bloody difficult,” Theo growled out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve searched everywhere and followed the supposed ‘clues.’ It just sends me in circles.”

Longbottom was considered the prized Undesirable with a reward of 500 galleons. His role had been created in the early days of the park due to a special request from Bellatrix to make hunting him into more of a game. In her twisted view, though, the enjoyment of said game centered on the need to ‘interrogate’ more people along the way.

“If it was easy it wouldn’t be fun, now would it?” Blaise said. He spread out the pieces of parchment on the table. Each one included a photo of the person, the reward amount, and starting hints to find them, such as contacts or locations. His large hands splayed out across the moving faces, asserting his position over them. With his job in the Storyline department, he’d been the one to assign them their roles as Undesirables. The glint in his eye was unmistakable, it was the same one Draco had seen in Theo last night with the Patil twins, the palpable exhilaration of knowing he had control over someone else.

Blaise shuffled through the sheets, pushing Lisa Turpin’s gaunt face to the back of the pile. Both he and Theo sniggered when a photo of Sturgis Podmore with his straw-colored hair and dark brown eyes came to the front. Raising a pale brow, Draco eyed them in confusion.

“Weren’t you listening last night?” Theo asked.

 _Obviously not_ , Draco thought, annoyed.

“Last time Theo was here he decided to go after Podmore with Pansy as his partner. They both cast a _Confundus_ at the exact same time, which apparently didn’t mix well with the enchantments already on him.” Blaise had to stifle a laugh as he continued. “Podmore decided to kidnap one of the Patil twins and run off with her into the forest to do Merlin knows what.”

“Does that happen often?” Draco asked. He didn’t really know what went on in the park with the prisoners and their mishaps. Property Maintenance and Storyline always dealt with the clean ups, unless his father or Snape were dragged into it. At that point, he didn’t really want to be around for the agitated shouting and exasperated looks that made the target want to vanish themselves right then and there.

Blaise shrugged. “Eh, sometimes. Especially when you get the older Death Eaters around. They tend to get more creative with their spells. But with a quick tracking charm and memory wipe it all goes back to normal.”  

With a wave of his beech-wood wand, four of the sheets disappeared, leaving only the one featuring Dean Thomas with a reward amount of 50 galleons.

“The only reason I’m here is because I heard Draco was finally coming and I wanted to make sure he received a healthy dose of _adventure_ ,” Blaise said, pushing the parchment toward Draco, his finger tapping the top edge of the page. “I recommend this particular Undesirable as a hunt. Ask the right questions and he might just lead you to Longbottom.”

“First Theo and now you. Why do people keep using that word, ‘adventure’?” Draco asked curiously.

Theo snorted. “Part of Blaise’s attempts at name recognition and branding. Always makes me sell the park as an ‘adventure’ when I’m out on my patrols.”

Draco had to suppress rolling his eyes. Blaise had been working in Storyline under Alecto Carrow since the park opened and had been less than subtle about his desires to move up the chain of command. Draco tended to ignore the more public areas of the Manor, but there was no escaping Blaise’s pompous boasting of the ‘grand plans’ he had for the prisoners and their storylines when cornering the blond at gatherings.

Apparently, now that Blaise was here offering them help, he had moved past the stage of self-promotion and onto bribery. Fantastic.

Turning his attention back to the parchment on the table, Theo spoke again. “Thomas seems too obvious of a clue; he and Longbottom were in the same year in Gryffindor. Thought you would have mixed it up a bit.”

“Ah, but that’s the point, is it not? The obvious is the unexpected,” Blaise said, grinning as a knowing spark twinkled in his dark eyes.

Standing up from his chair, he added, “Montague and Bulstrode were here yesterday as well, sniffing around for Longbottom. I may or may not have led them in the wrong direction. So, if you run into them, don’t mention you saw me or that I gave you hints. Got it?”

Theo couldn’t bother to even try to hide his snort. “Scared of Bulstrode?”

Blaise glared at him, but then thinking better of it, gave up the charade. “Aren’t you? Mental, that one.” His eyes darted over to the entrance to the pub where Weasley was walking out, her red hair swaying behind her as she opened the door to leave. “Do come see me after you’ve figured out where Longbottom is, I’m curious to know what you think about the hunt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to attend to.” And with that, Blaise strode toward the exit and left, letting the door slam in the face of a hungover Mundungus Fletcher behind him.

* * *

After they’d finished their breakfast, Draco and Theo walked through Hogsmeade and down the path to the Black Lake, stopping when they caught sight of the looming towers of Hogwarts. The castle was merely a pretense, though; only the main courtyard, Great Hall, and North Tower had a solid existence. The greenhouses, Quidditch goal hoops, and towers surrounding the main halls were an illusion to give the location authenticity.   

Snape had come to him recently and asked that the Astronomy Tower be constructed for the next reenactment of the Final Battle in a few months. It may not be the real Hogwarts tower once it was completed, but he knew the feelings of weakness and helplessness from the last time he was there would haunt him all the same. Unable to deny a request from one of the park’s two founders, Draco had convinced Theo to come by here for the day so that he could scope out the positioning of the new tower. Theo had agreed to it, albeit easily, suggesting that the best time to be out and about was after sunset.

Passing by the false door with the word ‘Divination’ etched into it, Draco climbed the spiralling stairs of the North Tower, stopping when he reached the topmost landing with only a slight pant in his breath. Wrapping one hand around the railing, he could see Theo walking out of the small boathouse by the lake below and disappearing through the edge of the forest. He didn’t know what the other man was up to, but any moment of peace he could get without Theo’s incessant chattering was to be savored.

He briefly wondered how the other people in his patrol group could stand it, but then thought about how back in sixth year he’d relished in Theo always filling the silence with his talking. It and Granger’s seemingly unwavering compassion for him had kept him distracted from feeling the dread of the impossible task he’d been given and how he’d been failing over and over again. Waking up on the balcony this morning and returning to his room to see Katie Bell still unconscious on the floor had been a sharp reminder of that time, as was seeing Granger again.

At least he knew he wouldn’t see Weasley wandering around in here. Replaying Theo’s comment this morning about Thomas and Longbottom in his head, he suppressed the twist in his stomach at the thought of where that class of Gryffindors and their ‘great daring and bravery’ had led them. Potter and Longbottom had been captured at the Battle of Hogwarts; they were some of the longest-term prisoners here. Just last year, Theo and Marcus Flint had been part of the group that had caught Thomas and Finnigan when they’d been spotted at a Quidditch supply shop in Kenmare.

But Weasley? Most incompetent of them all and yet he was still out there somewhere. Rumor had it that he’d organized the Resistance within a few months of Potter’s defeat and had been leading them ever since with Granger second in command, at least until she’d been captured. He chose to ignore the rattling of the tunnel door in his mind as Granger once again entered his thoughts.

Realizing it was now late afternoon, Draco took one last look around the tower before turning around and heading back down the stairs. He walked the grounds a bit longer, then met Theo at the northwest corner of the Black Lake to take the main trail back to Hogsmeade. As they trudged along with only the sound of their boots crunching on the gravel, Draco had to suppress the sharp twist of guilt he felt when they passed the dirt path that led to the Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack.

He’d sneaked his way into the shack a few times during his seventh year to avoid running into the Carrows and being asked to dole out punishments to the younger students. He’d always gone alone, taking several textbooks with him to practice his spellwork on the moth-eaten pillows he’d found in an upstairs bedroom.

The last time he’d been in the Shrieking Shack was different, though, when he’d made that final trip to the real Hogsmeade. He’d brought no books with him then, and he hadn’t been there alone.

At the sound of crumpling parchment, Draco looked over at Theo and saw him pulling out the flier with Dean Thomas’ face plastered across it. His forehead wrinkled as he read the clue aloud from the bottom of the page. “At my core you will find only rock. What the fuck does that mean?”

Draco sighed. Blaise could be quite less than witless at times. “Is Thomas a Mudblood?” he asked.

“How the bloody hell should I know?” Theo scoffed.

“Well, if his parents were Muggles, it's possible he's been shucked into the Muggle neighborhood about three or four miles to the north of here. Six streets, just over thirty houses, each with three bedrooms, two baths, red-”

“Yea yea, red doors, purple bricks, and magical fireplaces that can blast them into space,” Theo interrupted him, waving his hand at the blond in dismissal. “You and your infrastructure nonsense. How do you know he’s there?”

Draco stopped walking. “Because the name of the neighborhood is Stoneheart, you dolt.”

Theo halted his steps as well, looked at Draco, then looked back down at the parchment. Rolling his eyes, he then crinkled the sheet into a ball in his fist and threw it into the thicket of trees, muttering incoherent words under his breath as he stomped down the path.

“How did you not know that? Don’t you come here all the time?”

“Yea, but I stick to the worthwhile areas of the park, you know? Hogsmeade for the pub and Braxwood for Twisted Quidditch,” he replied with an obvious tone. “Or as Flint and I like to call it, Twidditch, seeing as the players tend to leave from there twitching,” he added with a snigger.

Draco really hoped Theo wasn’t planning on dragging him to the town on the far eastern coast of Somerset where the Quidditch stadium was. He had a map of the island imprinted in his mind and knew the location of every village and building, but he knew nothing of the location of prisoners. The exception being those in Braxwood. Well-known Quidditch players that had resisted the Dark Lord were used to play ‘Twisted Quidditch,’ a form of the sport where there were no rules regarding hexes and jinxes being used as an offensive strategy during gameplay.  

“Since you know where it is, you can guide us there tonight. Let’s head back to town and eat dinner before heading out.”

Draco nodded in response, not sure if a full meal was the right thing to have before their hunt for Thomas tonight. He hadn’t been out on patrols or in the thick of a duel for at least two years. But he knew the instinct of kill or be killed never truly went away. Well, he at least knew he couldn’t really die while in Somerset, that should give him some sort of comfort, right?

* * *

Draco and Theo dismounted their Firebolt Supremes as they landed in the center of Stoneheart, shrinking them down to stuff in their pockets. Theo withdrew his maple wand as they walked down the quiet suburban street, the illumination from the streetlamps casting shadows on the pavement beneath their feet.

“Any idea where we-?” Draco started to ask but was cut off by the sound of a blast.

Looking to his left, he saw two men in brown robes entering a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The blast had come from them blowing open the front door, the windows on either side now shattered.

He turned back to Theo and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Theo shrugged, then started walking toward where the two men had just entered. Draco followed, albeit reluctantly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on in that house. He’d survived the last few years by ignoring what went on in the park; seeing things unraveling in front of him was not something he wanted to confront.

Theo was a good twenty feet in front him now. He grimaced as he looked around, every house looked the exact same. Exact same doors, exact same windows, exact same beige siding. What a boring place to live. He really needed to -

His train of thought was derailed when he heard a scream from the house at the end.

He recognized that scream; he knew who it belonged to. That sound of terror had replayed in his nightmares for the past four years, the guilt of his cowardice keeping his reality in check.

His breath paused only briefly before his instincts made the decision for him, and he sped up his pace, his boots pounding the pavement as he ran to catch up with Theo. As he got closer, he could hear other voices screaming in pain inside the house. Just as they entered the living room, the screaming stopped, the cold night air now layered with a blanket of silence.  

A flash of red light flared from their right, and Draco threw up a _Protego_. Even though he couldn’t truly suffer from fatal wounds whilst in the park, it didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain. He knew prisoners could still attack them, even with the instilled downgrades in the quality and capabilities of the wands they were given. Just as it was in school, _What’s the point in attacking someone who doesn’t fight back?_ he thought bitterly.  

Theo continued dueling as Draco stood in the doorway, frozen in place while trying to absorb the scene in front of him. Justin Finch-Fletchley was shuffling around the room, dodging Theo’s spells, yelling at someone to shut up and stop crying. Hidden behind an upturned chair on the left side of the room, he could see brown hair splayed across the floor, the person’s arm speckled with blood.

Oliver Wood entered from the hall off to the right, and Draco shot a stunning spell at him that was quickly blocked. They continued to parry, flashes of red and purple lighting the dark room. Draco could sense that he had the upper hand; Wood’s movements seemed slow, almost weak. With a final _Reducto_ , his opponent collapsed on top of the desk in the corner of the room, his head lolling to the side to land on a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

Turning around, Theo and Finch-Fletchley had started circling the dining room table like a twisted game of cat and mouse. Theo failed to block the incoming Bat-Bogey Hex, and the former Hufflepuff used his opponent’s momentary distraction to dive toward Granger where she lay on the floor, her cry of shock ringing out as he pulled her up to a standing position, using her as a shield as he pointed his wand at her throat.

“Drop your wands or I kill her,” he snarled at them.

Theo laughed. “What makes you think-”

He was cut off by a flash of white flying across the room. Finch-Fletchley’s eyebrows furrowed together in pain and confusion before he fell to the ground, spots of blood staining the robes he wore. The soft tinkling of glass echoed in the room as Granger sank to her knees, her body shaking with muted sobs.

Draco could sense Theo’s eyes on him, but it was all he could do to control the twitching in his hand, the remnants of the _Sectumsempra_ he’d cast coursing through him. That damned tunnel door in his mind had started to crack.

Turning to see the surprised look on Theo’s face, he said “What? He was a waste of space back in school and now he’s a waste of time.” Chest heaving, he tried to keep his voice steady as he added, “What happens now?”

Theo stepped closer to Draco, cursing as the tail of his robes snagged on a piece of splintered wood lying on the ground. Granger continued to lay on the floor, soft cries racking her shoulders, still in shock over what had just happened. He had to push down the flashing images of when she’d been in a similar position on the floor of his drawing room four years ago.

“I don’t know, kill her, I guess. Or she’ll end up killing herself. Goyle mentioned a few months ago that he prefers to be the one resetting her down in Property Maintenance since she’s an easy clean up.” At Draco’s confused face, he added, “You know, suicide.” Theo missed Draco’s sharp flinch. “Blaise set up a few prisoners to end their loops in suicide ‘cause then he can control how much of a mess is left behind.”

“Why don’t you go on ahead and keep searching for Thomas. If one Mudblood is here, I’m sure another can’t be too far away.”

A wide grin spread across Theo’s joyful face. “Now you’re starting to get it.”

Draco kept his gaze focused on Granger where she lay next to an upturned dining chair, trying to maintain his aura of nonchalance. But inside, his stomach was twisting in knots, attempting to wring out the guilt and disgust he felt he was drowning in.

“Get what?” he asked.

“The game,” Theo replied with a sneer. “You’ve had a taste of the freedom this park offers. Out there in the real world, you’re stuck in an office and I’m stuck on patrols, stuck in our own little loops serving our Master.” Theo moved to stand behind Draco’s right shoulder, the devil whispering in his ear. “But in here, we can do whatever we want, to whoever we want, whenever we want. No consequences.”

Theo moved away from him and toward the entrance to the house, his departure feeling like the shedding of a shadow. “Come find me when you’re done.”

After checking to make sure Theo was gone, Draco rushed toward Granger, his knees cracking as he bent down to help her stand up. He didn’t know what to say to her as she looked around the room, holding on to him to keep herself steady, her small hands wrapped around his left bicep.

He’d known from his brief interaction with Katie Bell that the _Obliviate_ and _Imperius_ did their jobs perfectly. Granger wouldn’t know who he was, who _she_ was. The once-brave Gryffindor who would always fight for what she wanted was now someone who cowered on the floor and cried, too afraid to confront her situation.

“What happened?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.

“We were supposed to have our fir-first date tomorrow,” she whispered. “Ol-Oliver… H-He killed my pa-parents,” she stuttered out, her grip on his arm tightening as the weight of her loss hit her.

Grey eyes darted around the room, taking in the sight of both Finch-Fletchley’s and Wood’s limp bodies, now puppets without strings. Several photos hung on the wall in front of the small desk, one with a group of at least a dozen people, including Finch-Fletchley and Wood, hugging each other as Hermione stood at the front holding up an official-looking parchment. In a small, upright green frame next to it were her and who he assumed to be her parents, waving back at him from the stands of a Quidditch pitch, her father grinning as Hermione and her mother whispered something to each other and laughed.

“They’re d-dead and it’s m-my fault,” she croaked out. Pleading with him, she added, “What am I su-supposed to do now?”

He had no answer to give her and this meaningless life she’d been given. Trusting a close friend, thinking they could become more, only to have him betray her and rip apart her life. And in her grief, she’d kill herself. Then the loop would reset, and the piercing feeling of that loss, the guilt of trusting someone because she liked them, and the failure to protect her parents would happen all over again.

Theo was wrong. There were consequences to their actions, to their ‘freedom.’

 _This_ was the consequence. Their pain. Their anguish. _Their suffering_.

He heard Granger’s shaky breaths calm as she released his arm and bent down to pick up an overturned book. Brows furrowed, he watched as she held the book in front of her, blood smearing the light blue cover as her finger traced the silver lettering of the word _Snidget_. She seemed to almost be caressing it, like it was a long-lost treasure she couldn’t remember ever owning.

A tear escaped her eye, and unable to resist, he brought his left hand up to her face, cupping her warm cheek as the pad of his thumb brushed it and a few errant curls away. Her amber eyes darted to his, her expression frozen in concentration as she studied him.

She brought her right hand up to lay over his, her fingertip settling on the onyx face of his ring. He feared she would push him away. But then, looking closer, he almost thought he saw a brightening in her eyes, the beige specks alighting once more with the fire he’d believed to be extinguished.

The glow peeking out from the cracks in the tunnel door grew brighter.

“Hermione…” She closed her eyes as he whispered her name, the word on his tongue just as sweet as the first time he’d uttered it all those years ago.

* * *

_Dust floated up with each step she took up the stairs to the top floor of the Shrieking Shack. Stopping at the landing, Hermione peered around the corner into the bedroom, eyes passing over the tattered four-poster bed to the small window on the opposite wall. Malfoy’s blond wisps gleamed in the moonlight shining through, his shoulders hunched as he stared out across the grounds. Where puffs of smoke billowing from the tops of houses throughout Hogsmeade were once visible, she now could only see the tops of the trees from the Forbidden Forest poking out into the night sky._

_At the sound of her footsteps shuffling into the room, Malfoy’s hunched shoulders tensed. Spinning on his feet, he whipped out his wand to aim it directly at her. Realizing who it was, he dropped his arm, shoulders relaxing. “You came,” he breathed out._

_Her lips tightened as she did her best to suppress a scowl. Yes, she’d gotten his message. She hadn’t planned on responding to it by agreeing to meet. But somehow, her hope betrayed her reason, and here she was. They hadn’t seen each other since Harry was captured six months ago and she and everyone she knew had gone into hiding._

_Except he hadn’t. He’d made his choice perfectly clear. His parents had been threatened, he’d been forced to torture others, Harry had saved him in the Room of Hidden Things. And after she’d spent all of sixth year trying to help him and finally feeling like maybe, just maybe she could believe there was good in him, he’d still chosen the Dark Lord._

_Coward._

_“What do you want?” she growled out._

_A flash of guilt crossed his face. “Granger, I…” he trailed off. He looked uncertain now. “How are you?”_

_Hermione scoffed. “‘How am I?’” Her boots left prints in the dust and grime covering the floor as she stepped toward him. “We’re in the middle of a war. People are disappearing or dying left and right, people that I_ care _about. And you asked me to go out of my way and meet you because you wanted to know how I’m doing!?” she yelled, her eyes alight with outrage._

_The aura of anger and frustration in the room seeped into him. “Forgive me for my pleasantries. I was just going to warn you about what my father is planning.”_

_Her mirthless laugh ringing out caused the tension between them to increase. “I already know about Somerset.” Brown eyes narrowed as grey ones darted away, unable to look at them directly. “I’m surprised you’re allowed to leave there, what with daddy dearest leading the way. Shouldn’t you be there helping, proving your worth to your_ Master?” _s_ _he spat out the last word._

_Jaw clenching, he replied, “I had some errands to run nearby.”_

_His tone softened as he tried for something else to keep her from leaving. “Do you know anything about my mother?”_

_Her tense stance eased up a bit, but she was still on edge, still on alert. “I heard she disappeared. I’m sorry.” Her brows furrowed together as she asked, “Is that why you’re still on their side? Once you find her, will you come to us?” Hope was a dangerous and useless concept to have in this moment, but it overpowered her logic and reason._

_“There are no sides in this war, Granger. Hell, at this point, there is no war. Potter is locked away where he can never fight the Dark Lord. All any of us can do now is just survive.” He sounded resigned, as if he’d already given up._

_Eyes blazing and chin lifting, Hermione pushed forward until Malfoy was pinned against the wall, her chest brushing against his with each heaving breath she took. “Surviving isn’t living. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Mudblood.” She raised her left arm and pushed up her sleeve, brandishing the word etched into her skin. “There is no place for people like me in this world.”_

_Cold fingers wrapped around her forearm, hiding the word from his sight as he brought her arm back down. She chose to ignore the tightening in her chest as he began to caress her arm. “Then you have to leave.”_

_“Leave? As in leave England?” Her neck jerked back in shock. “You may have given up but I won’t. Harry needs me. My friends need me.”_

_“I’ve seen Somerset. I’ve seen what happens to the prisoners; my father gave a ‘demonstration’ to a few select Death Eaters.” Grey eyes pierced her as he pleaded, “I don’t want to see you end up there.”_

_“Why do you care what happens to me?” she asked, barely above a whisper as her heart rate increased, blood pounding through her. Somehow, without her own knowledge, she’d started to care for him. She’d tried to reason with herself that she’d just felt sorry for him. Her faith in him was restored after he’d refused to identify them at the Manor and insisted on preventing Crabbe from killing Harry in the Room of Hidden Things._

_Then Harry had been captured. And Narcissa was missing. And Ron had suddenly been thrust into the role of leading the Resistance and she’d spent the past six months doing nothing but strategizing and planning and fighting. She was exhausted. It had all become so complicated._

_But Draco was here now. Pressed against her, touching her, a solid object she could feel._

_His expression softened as his left hand wrapped around her hip, the warmth of his palm penetrating through her sweater and heating the skin beneath. Their eyes met each other, and she found the answer she was looking for._

_Perhaps in this moment things didn’t have to_ be _complicated._

_It could be easy. Easy for her to pull his face down to hers and kiss him. Easy to thread her hands through his hair and relish in the soft groan he released as she bit his bottom lip to intertwine their tongues. Easy to give in and just be together, for all they had was right now._

_He spun them around, trapping her against the wall. One hand tangled in her hair, the other firmly wrapped around her waist, his fingertips dug in against her ribs that had started to poke through from her poor eating habits over the last few months._

_As much as she was a fighter and would never stop trying, never give up, it didn’t mean she didn’t have doubts, that his words weren’t ones she’d already been thinking. She didn’t know how long she would survive, how long any of them would survive._

_A choked sound escaped her, and Draco pulled away from her, his thumb rubbing against her cheek to wipe away the lone tear as he gazed at her, grey eyes full of concern._

_“Hermione…” he said._

_Squeezing her eyes shut, she drowned out the anguish and uncertainty coursing through her. She didn’t want to think about it or feel it. All she wanted to feel was this, right here, right now._

_“Just for now,” she pleaded._

_He replied with what could only be described as a sad smirk, resigning himself to be here in this moment and forget everything that came before and everything that could come after._

_When he awoke a few hours later, he was alone. Reaching out to the empty space on his cloak he had laid out, he released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when he felt warmth beneath his fingertips._

_She had been there, she was real. Her feelings, her actions, it was all real, a glimpse of something he could have._

_He knew his asking of her to leave England was a wasted plea. She wouldn’t be the Hermione Granger he knew if she did._

_It was in that moment that he made a vow. He wasn’t ready to give up on his mother, but he could use his position to feed information to the Resistance, to help them. He could prove to Hermione that he could change, that he was worth caring about, that the fleeting moment of last night could become much more than ‘just for now.'_

_He whispered the words into the empty room, knowing that she was who they were intended for but that he was holding himself accountable this time._

_“I promise.”_

* * *

“Hermione…” Draco whispered again as she opened her eyes.

A soft gasp escaped her mouth, eyes shining brightly as she looked at him. She wrapped her small hands around both of his cheeks, her thumbs brushing his nose and eyes, as if she were checking to make sure he was real.

“Just for now,” she breathed.

The words echoed in his head as he recalled the last time he’d heard them, pleading with him to help her forget. Now, he was helping her to _remember._

His arms wrapped around her small frame as he pulled her close, hands running through her thick curls. She whispered his name over and over again, and the tunnel door in his mind crumbled to dust, the light from the room at the end suddenly brightening. Her cheek against his chest brought back a warmth and comfort he’d been missing as they embraced each other, her sobs of despair now replaced with cries of shock and relief.

Perhaps he could disguise his ‘park adventures’ as time he could be spending with her, protecting her from these two prats. Hermione Granger is what had kept him from completely falling apart sixth year. When he’d needed a place to escape to that was outside of the castle but still within reach that he could get back easily without being missed, she’d provided him with the secret of the Shrieking Shack. And in the midst of the war, when he’d reinforced his cowardice by continuing to follow the Dark Lord, she’d agreed to meet with him, letting slip her hope that he would make the right choice and come back to her as if she still believed he was capable of being so much more than the follower that he was.

She was his light in this screwed up world.

But what was he to her?

Her murmurings softened, and before he knew what was happening, her right hand wrapped around his left arm and wrenched the sleeve of his robes up, revealing the black skull and snake etched into his arm.

She choked and pushed him away from her, the cold now seeping back into him where her warmth had once been. He didn’t understand her abrupt change. She’d seen his Mark before, that night in the Shrieking Shack; she’d seen past it, past the mask he’d always worn.

“Who are you!? What do you want?” she demanded, the fire in her eyes now directed at him.

One minute they were together, she was _here_ , mentally and physically. The next, she was gone. He put his hands up in front of him, placating her, hoping she would see he wasn’t a threat.

“Hermione, it’s me. It’s Draco,” he pleaded with her.

Her hands came to rest on her face, trembling as she pushed them upward through her hair and entangled them in it, almost as if she was trying to pull chunks of it out. Eyes darting around the room, her breaths quickened as she began to hyperventilate. Thick wrinkles formed around the corners of her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. They then shot open, staring directly at him.

“You did this.”

Bracing himself with his arms in front of his chest, Hermione starting hitting him with her fists, yelling all the while. “I trusted you! And you betrayed me!”

Her jabs slowed as she looked around the room, stepping back to focus her attention on where the pool of blood next to Finch-Fletchley soaked into the carpet. “I trusted them, and they betrayed me.” She was panicking again. “They always betray me. They always hurt me. I can’t…”

Draco saw what she was aiming for just as she bent down to pick something up off the floor, a large shard of glass that had been blasted from the front door, and stopped her before she could reach it. She cried out, but didn’t fight back. She’d given up. The hold of the _Obliviate_ and _Imperius_ was too strong; whatever connection they’d had wasn’t enough to keep it at bay.

Looking pleadingly into his eyes, she said, “Please. Please, just let me die.”

He couldn’t breathe. This creature in front of him was not Hermione Granger. This _thing_ was a farce, a mockery, a distorted image of a woman who was long gone.

Before she could wrest herself out of his arms, he reasoned with himself. If he didn’t follow through, she’d just reach down and drag that glass across her neck and feel every second of the pain of it digging into her skin but that she wouldn’t really die. At least this way, she felt no pain as he shot the stunning spell at her. She’d be unconscious until Property Maintenance came to clean up.

Draco slowly lowered her to the floor as she went limp in his arms, gently laying her head down to avoid the edge of an overturned chair. He brushed several curls out of her face, now seeing how at peace she looked compared to the fear and pain and confusion he’d seen earlier.

Swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise, he stood up. Theo would be wondering where he was soon. Granger couldn’t remember him, and the only way he could survive was if he pretended he couldn’t remember her either. Needing to get out of the room, he strode toward the open space where the front door used to be and paused with his hand on the inside of the frame. Facing the cold night air, he attempted to compose himself, making do with rickety boards strung together rather than the thick oaken door he’d built up over the years to block the light at the end of the tunnel, a light that had now faded to a dull grey.

He was so focused on suppressing all his thoughts and emotions about Hermione Granger that he’d failed to notice Severus Snape watching the entire scene from the rear window of the house, his chin lifting and twisting to the side as he pondered the interaction he’d just witnessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is probably the most angsty of the four chapters  
> What did you think of Hermione's change in reaction to Draco?  
> Feel free to share your thoughts below :)


	4. The Promise

Draco leaned one hand on the cool black table, bracing himself after landing in the Rally Room. The dimly lit sconces surrounding the perimeter of the silent room and stark cleanliness of the tables and chairs were a sharp contrast to where he’d just been in the park, deafened and blinded by the roar of fire and screams.

After leaving Granger, he’d found Theo a few blocks over, skipping up and down the street as he set house after house alight, his only excuses being that he’d wanted a chance to test out _Fiendfyre_ and that the quickest way to find Thomas was by forcing the neighborhood’s inhabitants out onto the streets. The dark-skinned former Gryffindor had finally made an appearance, running out of the third house on the right, panting and covered in sweat as he’d tried to drag an older woman with him.

Draco had tried to look busy, shooting mild hexes at the other prisoners who’d ran out into the street, to avoid Theo calling attention to him as he’d started hexing and cursing Thomas, not even asking yet for the whereabouts of Longbottom. Apparently it hadn’t been enough, though. The tension in Draco’s shoulders had only increased when Theo had clapped him on the back and held out his hand as if he were offering Thomas up as a gift. He’d tried to look convincing, casting a weak _Crucio_ that barely had the man twitching. But after the meaningless life he’d seen Granger in, he couldn’t stomach the thought of adding to their pain.

Theo had pushed him aside, making excuses about how the blond had been locked away in his office for too long and needed to see how it should be done. A few precise _Diffindo_ s later and he’d felt the splatters of blood across his pale face, grimacing as he’d turned away whereas Theo had relished in the feel of control.

It wasn’t until he’d heard the yells of the older woman Thomas had been carrying out of the house, begging for them to not hurt her son, that he was her only child and to please take her instead, that Draco had finally lost it. Her cries had reminded him of the night he’d returned to Malfoy Manor after the confrontation at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Even though Dumbledore was dead, the Dark Lord had been disgusted with Draco’s lack of effectiveness and decided he’d needed to be punished for his disobedience. He’d managed to block out most of the pain of the _Crucio_ s, putting up his mental shields to protect him in that moment. But the sounds of his mother crying, Bellatrix chastising her, and Lucius having to hold her back lest the Dark Lord turn on her next were things he’d been unable to block out.

Draco turned to rest both of his hands on the table he was leaning against, squeezing his eyes shut to block out Theo’s incessant chatting yet again, still shaking from when he’d let go of the apathy and ignorance he’d been living in for two years. The houses that had been burning had started to collapse, the total count at eight then, four on each side of the street. He’d released his anger and disgust of the place, casting _Bombarda_ and _Deprimo_ on the houses on the left, each one crumbling in succession to piles of ash and debris.

He’d built those houses. All the exact same two-stories with three bedrooms; at least one bedroom had to be on the ground floor so that some of the prisoners were easy bait for the guests and that they didn’t all attack at once. The red door against the plain beige of the siding had reminded him of the blood soaking through Finch-Fletchley’s simple robes.

Years had passed of him sitting on the sidelines while he’d let this world exist, let people be dragged in here. He may not have been one of the Death Eaters who enjoyed taunting and torturing these prisoners, but he’d built their cages, trapped them in their loops never to escape.

He’d let off _Confringo_ and _Reducto_ to the houses on the right that had blasted splinters of the wood paneling in all directions. He’d soaked in the warmth radiating off of the still burning houses, feeling powerful in the destruction of what he himself had created. And that’s when he’d realized he’d fallen into the trap, the primary gift this park offered to its guests: the freedom to control.

In the background, he’d heard Theo questioning Thomas, finally asking about Longbottom and where to find him.

And there it was. The truth of this world: it was all just a _game_. His destruction of the houses didn’t matter. Property Maintenance would apply a few reversal spells, and the rubble and flames and sobbing prisoners around him would go right back to where they’d started a few hours ago, living in peace and contentment, completely unaware that they were nothing but pieces on a board to be used and played with.

But then Theo had let out a growl and stopped his torturing, clutching his forearm as his Master summoned him away from his supposed freedom. They couldn’t Apparate within the park nor onto or off of Somerset, so they’d run to the nearest rally point that would transport them to the Rally Room just offset of the visitor’s entrance to the Manor.

Theo’s shouting of his name brought him back to the present, and he opened his eyes to see yellow-tinged teeth grinning at him. “Give it a few days,” he said. “You’ll start to realize how boring it is being stuck on the outside and be dying to go back. I’ll let you know next time I’m planning to head in, and we can finish what we started.“ His robes whirled around as he stalked toward the exit, but he paused at the threshold. Glancing over his shoulder with a smirk and a glint in his eye, he added, “I do so hope you _enjoyed_ the experience.” And then he left.

The faint light from the sconces cast shadows across Draco’s face, not dark enough to mask his bewilderment as he recalled their first night in the pub, Theo’s comments about ‘enjoying the perks of his position’ ringing in his ears. The thought of having to revisit the park made his stomach churn. He longed to rewind the past few days and go back to his isolation of work and ignorance and apathy. But it was too late for that now, he could never go back, never be able to forget the reality of what he’d seen.

Reality, how bitterly ironic it all was, really. Those trapped inside Somerset couldn’t recognize or remember their reality whereas Draco on the outside fully understood his own reality and wanted nothing more than to forget it. In the end, they were all prisoners in this world.

Collecting himself, he flicked his wand to remove the blood that had started to dry onto his pale skin, eager to return to his quarters and drown himself in firewhiskey and Dreamless Sleep. A faint tapping noise out in the hallway that grew steadily louder made him freeze his movements. A high-toned clacking against the stone floor used to signal his mother coming toward him, the pace of her heels a hint of what her mood might be. But he knew he would never hear that sound again.

No, this tapping was blunt, slow, methodical, as if the person making it did so purposefully yet gracefully, without any indication of what their temperament could be. Draco loathed the person it belonged to; he’d done everything he could the past four years to avoid them, but living and working in the same dreary building made ‘chance’ encounters unavoidable. His skin crawled as the man spoke.

“Ah, Draco, I see you have returned,” Lucius Malfoy’s slow drawl echoed around the room as he entered, his finger caressing the snake’s head on his cane as he took in his son’s defensive stance and expression.

“Yes, and I’m quite ready to return to my quarters and start on the work I’ve missed, so if you’ll excuse me, Father,” he bit out, unsuccessfully hiding his sneer, pounding out his frustration through his steps as he pushed past Lucius to leave.

“Did you _enjoy_ yourself?”

Draco halted. The light swish of Lucius unsheathing his wand from his cane broke the silence in the room, followed by the grinding of stone as he sealed the door to the hallway shut. The younger man spun on his heels to face his father, his chest heaving as he breathed deeply to control the rage coursing through him.

Once upon a time, Draco had adored his father, wanting nothing more than to please him and follow in his footsteps, promoting the Malfoy name and relishing in the power it carried. Even in this dark world, Lucius’ proud expression never faltered as he adapted, the Malfoy name still commanding admiration and influence. But now Draco was disillusioned by what they had had to do survive; he’d been questioning for far too long if it was all worth it.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Draco demanded.

Lucius turned to face him, his expression betraying nothing but a calm demeanor beneath his icy exterior. “‘Tis a simple question, really. Did you enjoy the park and everything it had to offer?” He slowly stepped forward, Draco steadfast in his stance to not show any weakness. “I’m curious, considering it’s been what, two years since you’ve visited? Even before that you’ve never shown an interest in it, not really.” His expression darkened, his deep voice almost growling as he added, “You would do well to rectify that.”

Draco’s left foot stayed perfectly in place, but his right had other ideas as it stepped back to add distance between father and son. A surprised scoff escaped him. “Did you _ask_ Theo to take me in there?”

Lucius responded with a barely-noticeable shrug of his shoulders. “That sense of entitlement of your generation makes it so easy. A simple suggestion laced with a potential promise of promotion to both Mr. Nott and Mr. Zabini and they did exactly what I needed them to, none the wiser.”

Draco clenched his jaw, attempting to bite back his retort but failing. “You see this, _this_ right here is why I avoid you at all costs. The manipulation, the control, has anything I’ve done in my life ever really been my decision? Or were you playing me, pushing me around like a pawn on a chessboard.” He huffed, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips. “I’m no better than your prisoners in the park.”

The Malfoy patriarch dropped his charade, snarling as he pushed Draco against the stone wall, the dark grey of his eyes flashing with rage. “Every action, every maneuver I have ever done has been not _to_ you, but _for_ you. I built Somerset for you, for our family, for our legacy. The Malfoy name has been a respected symbol of purity and wealth for a thousand years and I will _not_ see it disappear into the dust because you are too narrow-minded to see beyond the current world order.”

He minutely relaxed his hand where it gripped Draco’s shoulder as he continued, “If you want to keep your place in this world and survive, you need to blend in more effectively, act like the rest of the employees in this Manor and learn their strengths and weaknesses. You’re never going to accomplish anything you want if you don’t understand neither your enemies nor your allies.”

Releasing him, Lucius stepped back, adjusting his robes to hide any trace of his outburst. His hands came together to rest on the cane in front of him, restoring his cold mask of indifference. “There is...talk, rumors. I believe there are spies here in the Manor.”

“Spies?” Draco scoffed. “From the Resistance?”

The elder man’s lip curled as he suppressed his irritation. “No, you foolish boy, news of the Resistance is barely above a whisper anymore.” His head tilted to the side as he watched Draco start pacing around the room. “I’m not sure who is behind it or what exactly they want, but it seems someone is _dissatisfied_ with the way I’m running things and has been expressing their concerns to the Dark Lord. He’s been summoning me every few weeks over the past several months, asking what more I’m planning and if I’m still capable of managing things and making sure our prisoners don’t get too comfortable in their cages.”

Draco suppressed his sneer, stopping his steps on the far side of the room opposite the door and leaning against the wall there. As much as he hated it, he knew that if his father lost his position and influence then he himself wouldn’t be far behind. Living and working in the Manor was significantly better than being assigned duties for patrolling or, Salazar forbid, Ministry work dealing with the public. “And what do you want from me?”

The edges of Lucius’ lips slightly twitched, apparently pleased with his son’s response. “Do what you are supposed to do, no more hiding in your office or quarters or avoiding others when you are summoned to revels. You are the sole heir to a powerful, pureblood family with a respected name. Now that Mudbloods and blood traitors are in their proper places, we only have to concern ourselves with others who wish to be in our position. Watch what people say and do and what they don’t, and trust no one. Except Severus.”

The younger man scoffed. “Snape?”

“Your godfather will always protect you; I trust him. He helped build this place and understands the operations and politics just as much as I do. If I fall, so will you, and so will he.”

“Mutually assured destruction. Brilliant,” Draco said bitterly. Soft grey eyes locked with the dark pewter of the older Malfoy’s, and Draco nodded. He accepted what his father asked of him, recognizing the possible threat, but remembered that he’d said to trust no one except Snape. Even Lucius knew that asking his own son to trust him was futile; after the fiascos of his sixth and seventh year, Draco had lost all respect he had for the man and could never trust him again.

Lucius nodded back and flicked his wand, the stone door sliding open as he turned around to leave, but he stopped at the threshold. “There are eyes and ears everywhere, Draco. I may not have a direct hand in the day-to-day activities, but I know every little thing that happens in this Manor and in the park, as does Severus. You would be wise to remember that.”

Draco’s heart stopped beating in his chest. Did he know about Granger? Impossible. Their encounter had happened barely an hour ago. And there was no way he could have known about their interactions at Hogwarts; he’d never told another soul and he doubted she had either.  

Anger surged through him. Of course Lucius would ensure his requests were attended to by finishing them off with a hint of a threat. Draco pushed off the wall, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He wasn’t holding his tongue anymore. “Tell me, Father. In all your musings on everything you’ve done for the sake of the family, what would Mother say if she saw your creation?”

From his position, Draco could see the tensing of Lucius’ shoulders, a smirk crossing his face as he delighted in being able to catch the elder Malfoy off-guard. What Draco couldn’t see, though, was the twitching of Lucius’ right eye, a glimpse of sorrow crossing his face as he tried to swallow down the bitterness of irony at the mention of his wife.

“Your mother is gone, Draco. All she ever wanted was for you to be safe. You do her an injustice by not even trying to protect yourself.”

On that final note, Lucius departed the room and strode off down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps not nearly as noticeable as the lack of the slow, controlled tapping of his cane.

* * *

Draco stood in front of his bathroom sink the following evening, shirtless and clad in only clean black trousers. The only piece of his reflection visible was his face, the rest of the mirror fogged up with steam from the shower he’d just finished.

He’d tossed and turned all last night and hadn’t gotten a single bit of work done all day. His thoughts had been trapped in the neverending circle of needing to make a decision he didn’t think he was ready to close the book on.

The towel squeaked against the mirror as he rubbed more of the condensation away, revealing his platinum blond hair and the Dark Mark inked into the pale skin of his forearm in his reflection. This is who he was. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, Head of Infrastructure at Somerset Park. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his father was right; he needed to start playing his part in this world ruled by the Dark Lord.

He’d been running on autopilot for at least two years now, and last night in the park, as horrific as he’d found it to be, it was the first time he’d felt something besides apathy. Something needed to change for him. At this point, what did he really have left besides his father and fellow Slytherins? His mother was gone, and Granger...

Sure, he thought he’d cared for her once. They’d had one tryst three years ago; it’s not like that meant he was in love with her. And whatever it was she’d once felt for him was long gone now.

He kept replaying last night in his head, barely able to keep the decrepit tunnel door from breaking into pieces.

The fire in her eyes. The gasp of shock and relief.

_Just for now._

He closed his eyes, trying to force away the memory.

It just didn’t make sense. Hell, was it even possible?

It was one thing to be under the _Imperius_ , doing as someone else commanded while buried deep down the person had an inkling something might be off. The _Obliviate_ was an entirely different type of hell, more of a torture on the people around the victim than the victim themselves. Combining the two, though, what exactly was left in a person’s mind when they had no true memories and no control over their own lives?

Perhaps he had imagined the whole encounter.

His knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands around the edge of the marble basin.

If he had any hope of not just surviving, but _living_ , he needed to embrace his role, this life he’d been given. He needed to be able to stomach it, possibly find a way to _enjoy_ what he could out of it, to just _feel_ something. Even relishing in the minute sense of power he could hold over his fellow employees could give him a reason to get up in the morning.

And as much as he despised his father, he was right, the Malfoy name meant something and would still command respect in the years to come. He needed to make a change, to find a reason to live, to know he wasn’t stuck in his own loop.

But then his thoughts went back to Granger. The light at the end of that tunnel had flared a fierce orange before fading to grey last night. Even now it was still glowing, thick beams shining through the holes in the tattered door.

He had to know, had to be sure. _Is she really gone?_

Donning his traditional black robes, he strode out of his quarters and down the long, narrow hallway that led away from the employee housing and toward the main area of the Manor where the departments and offices were. The corridor was empty at the moment; the majority of employees had already started their evening shifts or were out patrolling the park.

His feet continued to carry him forward, past the turning points for the Storyline and Employee Management departments. The dark green lettering and arrow indicating the direction toward the Infrastructure offices flew past as he hurried along, not wanting to acknowledge the Spare Property storage area where prisoners such as Horace Slughorn and Xenophilius Lovegood stood, pale and Petrified, waiting for someone to find a place for them in the park.

He finally reached the double doors at the end of the hall and pushed them open, hurrying through to prevent his cloak from catching as they closed behind him. Pale hands wrapped around the cold railing of the balcony he was standing on as he looked down on the Dome of Property Maintenance, a large circular room divided into eight smaller areas by clear glass windows. Each area housed an elongated silver table and a small stool on which sat employees dressed in plain black robes, some sitting very still, others fidgeting with their wands. They were waiting for the next round of prisoners to arrive to be healed and reset before being sent up to Control Verification.

Several loud cracks echoed below, and a body appeared on each table lying unmoving, eyes wide open. Draco’s eyes drifted around the rooms, passing over Jimmy Peakes and freezing when they found who he was looking for. _Hermione_.

Turning to the left, he cautiously walked down the spiral stairs and through the narrow hallway between Peakes and Granger, stopping at the entrance to the room she was in. Apparently, Theo was right.

Gregory Goyle looked up from the parchment he was reading from with a confused frown on his fat face. “What are you doing down here?”

Draco started to speak but paused. Maybe he hadn’t entirely thought this through.

He was saved the trouble of having to find an answer when he felt a presence behind him, and Greg’s expression became serious as he stood up straighter.

“Out. Now,” Severus Snape growled from behind him.

The blond’s shoulders tensed, and he was mildly surprised when Greg nodded and immediately obeyed. He didn’t have a moment more to ponder that thought though as he was roughly pushed into the room, stumbling over the small wooden stool. Snape followed him in, shutting the door and casting _Muffliato_ and _Obscuro_ across the windows and ceiling to block out onlookers.

Steadying himself with his hands on the edge of the table, Draco tried to maintain a mask of indifference in front of Snape. He trusted his former Potions professor, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to know everything about him or his past with Granger, whatever it was that they had had.

His emotions betrayed him as he looked down at her, brown eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. He just needed to wake her, to talk to her, to know that this thing in front of him was not the Hermione he used to know. Snape’s presence complicated this.

Why was Snape here anyway?

Turning around to watch Snape as he moved forward to stand on the other side of the table, Draco asked, “What are you doing here?”

A cold smirk spread across his thin lips. “If you ask Mr. Goyle, he’ll say it’s because I have frequent visits with Miss Granger.” His voice still carried that tone he used when he would teach, trying to get foolish students to learn something that he believed they could never possibly understand. “Visits that require that well-known-yet-never-discussed level of discretion that many employees request with their favorite prisoners.”

Draco frowned in disgust, tearing his gaze away from Hermione as Snape emitted a soft hum. “No blood on her this time,” he said.

This was worse than he’d thought. Snape was supposed to be the reasonable one between him and Draco’s father. And yet here he was, indulging in toying with prisoners. Draco started to step back to leave the room, intent on escaping and forgetting he’d ever wanted to do this.

Black eyes locked on him, and he froze. “Leaving so soon?”

“Clearly you get priority, Sir,” he replied, thinking that him wanting privacy with Granger was a reasonable excuse to use.

“Come now, Draco. Neither of us is here for that particular type of visit.” He stepped around the room to stand beside Draco, intentionally not blocking the blond’s view of the table. “Don’t you want to know if she still remembers?”

Grey eyes widened in surprise. With the way Snape lifted a dark brow, studying him, Draco knew he was talking about more than just remembering last night.

How was it possible that Snape knew about how he felt toward her? He’d made sure throughout sixth year that no one knew he’d been meeting her, nor had he told anyone about their last encounter after the war.

And then his father’s voice resounded in his head. _I know every little thing that happens in this Manor and in the park, as does Severus._

Somehow, Snape knew what had happened last night, had seen the way Draco desperately held onto her as she’d started to remember him and how he’d reacted when she’d reverted to her loop.

“I am well aware of your little secret. Just as I am aware of many other _secrets._ ”

Jaw clenching, Draco thought more about what his father had said last night. “You know secrets. Good for you. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever you think I used to feel toward her is gone. I’ve accepted my place in this world and am here to make sure that where my loyalties lie is clear.”

“And is that with the Dark Lord or against him?”

He glanced away for a brief second, his grey eyes narrowing as he realized Snape appeared pleased at his hesitation, but then the older man’s expression softened.

“You are not the only one who once cared for a Mudblood.”

Draco scoffed in shock, about to ask what in Merlin’s name he was talking about, but Snape held up his hand, his expression hardening back into that frowning sneer he always carried.

“Everything your father said was true, but Lucius and I have different motives.”

Draco spoke up, fear evident in his tone. “Does he-”

“No,” Snape quickly answered before continuing. “The only reason your father remotely cares for these prisoners more than he would a house elf is because they earn him galleons and influence.” He turned his head to look at Hermione where she lay on the table.

“This place, this park, the guests see it as nothing more than a game to play and win by killing. To the resistance, it is a prison where their loved ones are trapped, using it as their reason to keep fighting. To the Death Eaters, it is a delightful threat they can use against their enemies. Same with the Dark Lord, albeit he is starting to see it as something with a darker potential than just these little adventures Storyline comes up with.” He turned back around to lock eyes with Draco. “But to us...to us it is so much more.”

“We can help them, but we have to work together. I have a plan, and it will take time. It has taken years for the Dark Lord to build this world the way he sees fit. It will take many more to bring it down.” His tone hardened. “Swear to me your loyalty. Loyalty not for our Master or for ourselves, but for them.” Snape pointed his hand at Hermione. “For her.”

Draco looked down at where she lay, curls spread out, expression vacant. He thought of the promises he’d made and failed to uphold. He’d sworn he would prove he wasn’t the coward everyone thought he was. He’d tried to contact her after their last meeting in the Shrieking Shack, but she’d refused to see him. Thinking she’d given up on him, he gave up on her, and thus himself.

But even after all these years of him trying to block her out, to keep the door sealed, the tunnel had never collapsed and the room at the end had never completely disappeared. He’d never _really_ given up on her.

All the times in the past, all the decisions he’d made throughout sixth and seventh year and even after, she’d continued to believe in him, believe him to be more than a sheep who followed. Part of him still resented her, blamed her for where he’d ended up because he thought she’d forsaken him. But this was war, it was bigger than just the two of them.

And really, that’s what it came down to. This was about more than just two people on different sides of a war. It was about the sin and darkness and injustice this world had become, the families torn apart, lives ruined, all because too many people believed someone was a threat simply because of who they were born to. And the ones who didn’t believe that particular dogma were too afraid to stand up for what they thought wasn’t right.

Hermione hadn’t been afraid. True to herself, she’d fought. Who was he to prevent her from having the chance to keep fighting? To keep her from being herself? To keep any of them from having the freedom to live?

The fierceness and determination that she once carried surged through him. She may not remember him, but he remembered _her_. Even if Hermione herself wasn’t waiting for him in that room at the end of the tunnel, her warmth and light and unfounded optimism were still there, her belief that there was more to live for in this world than following those he thought held power just so he could _survive_ was at the center of it.

With the conviction of his decision etched into his face, he turned and met Snape’s penetrating black eyes with his own storming grey.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed it!  
> This is the first multi-chapter fic I've written, so please let me know what you think!  
> And yes, I have a sequel planned and outlined. It will be significantly longer and spread across multiple characters both inside and outside of the park, but will mainly focus on the prisoners.  
> Until next time!  
> -tectonictigress


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